The Prince of Pandemonium
by fabulous sun
Summary: The accidental discovery of an old tomb brings unpredictable consequences... Young ranger Link has enough trouble on his own, but he only realizes that he has stirred something he shouldn't have when a malicious demon seeks him out, declaring Link his master - and the one meant to free his race. Ghirahim is dead on target. Link might be on his way to hell. Amongst others. GhiraLink
1. Prologue

**The Prince of Pandemonium**

Prologue

It was so cramped that he felt like he couldn't breathe, the cold sucked the feeling from his skin. His heart beat so hard against his breastbone that he was nauseous, and he didn't have enough air to scream, even when the part of his brain that hadn't gone numb already kept telling him that this was only in his mind. The murky darkness was the worst of it, not completely black and not enough light to see either, a twilight that seemed to close in on him.

There was air, there was even space to move, just a little further…

A sharp tug around his waist that seemed to carve his body into an hourglass reminded Link that he indeed had functioning lungs, but he wasn't so sure of his kidneys anymore.

"Why the hell are you dawdling, midget?!"

The booming voice was followed by hurried shushing and mumbling voices. Link exhaled carefully to ease the stinging in his midriff, where his pouch had almost dug into his solar plexus. Then he set his aching elbows onto the uneven stone again and crawled on, following the tiny draft of stale air.

Beneath him, _far_ beneath him, Groose and Fledge began to argue in hushed tones.

"Please be quiet – if the Kikwis hear us, all of this was in vain…"

"Hunting is never in vain," Groose cut him off, and Fledge's voice flinched. "Don't call it a hunt, we want no harm…"

Link's icy fingers brushed stone and dragged his body forward. He felt the wetness of blood, but he couldn't feel where he had cut himself. Even as dirt entered the wound, he stubbornly crawled through the inky dark. The draft grazed his ear now.

"Like they need the damned lianas, they won't miss them!"

Fledge sounded decidedly nervous now. "You don't know, maybe they do, for their nests and such…"

Something hairy touched his hand and scurried over it with more than four legs. Link froze, his heart hammering again and forcing him to stay still and count to twenty. Mockingly, the draft caressed his cheek.

_Almost there._

The thought entered his mind, and he crawled on, hauling himself through the choking passage.

"You're even more useless than goldilocks up there, aren't ya?!" Groose tugged at the rope that secured their climber, impatient and tense himself. "You stuck or what?!"

Suddenly, Link's hand grabbed empty air, and his breath caught. He had climbed up here to search for a nest of Kikwis, confident that the narrow fissure was the perfect hideout for the strange creatures and their valuable plants and seeds. The tunnel that he had squeezed himself into until even he fought panic couldn't simply _end_. It wasn't fair.

Link reached out again, risking angering a poisonous insect, but he couldn't wear his gloves if he was to remain agile. He groped for something, anything, that wouldn't prove this to be a useless effort-

"Link, are you alright?" Fledge sounded worried now, tugging at the rope again.

Link's thoroughly battered fingertips suddenly bumped into something smooth, almost glassy. He instinctively withdrew his hand to protect it from a sting, but he merely felt a subtle vibration, almost as if the stone around him sighed. Almost like-

A luminescent glow oozed from the surface, blinding Link for a moment before he could blink. It was the light of soft, moist moss that they had seen before in the ancient temple, though only in small patches. This was…

This was unbelievable. This wasn't a Kikwi nest, it was much larger. _A chamber._

"Link?"

He grabbed the edge of the crumbly stone and dragged his body through the tunnel, then hastily untied the knot of rope around his waist and lowered himself from the opening. In his frenzy, Link hadn't considered that it had obviously been Fledge holding the rope now – who let go as the sudden weight yanked at his end. With a startled gasp, it gave way and Link crashed into the greenish twilight.

"I've had it, I'll blast this whole shit down now."

"Groose, no!"

There might have been a brief moment of unconsciousness: Link could not say it as he found himself lying on his back in a thick carpet of moss and staring stunned at the faded red of the ceiling. There was pain traveling through him, dull pain, maybe he had injured his back when colliding with the floor.

No, it was his hands. They were bleeding, he could smell it. Feel it.

_Blood._

That was when the world rocked again under the force of a bomb flower, collapsing stone and spitting dust, and Link's vision snapped back into place, making him cover his head with his arms to protect himself from chunks and splinters of rock. He heard coughing and scrunching, and quivering torchlight crept into the chamber as the explosion effectively evened the way.

"I asked you why-… Holy Heavens!"

As Groose stumbled over the scattered stone, the light crept over the chamber, its even walls and the marble mosaic covering the floor. The air was moldy and dry, and dust had settled on the chipped spaces, and yet, the round room emanated a strange dignity. A low round platform rose in the middle, surrounded by shapeless relicts encrusted with moss and age.

Fledge yelped in horror.

"This is a tomb!"

Groose grumbled and lifted the torch, illuminating the dark corners with interest. "Can't be a tomb if there ain't a casket. You see one, fraidy-cat?"

Link scrambled to his feet, but to his relief, what he had landed in was a basin of wood that had immediately caved under the force of his weight and shattered. He could still see glimpses of intricate intarsia that had not yet been decomposed by moss and humidity. Whatever purpose this had served, it was not a sarcophagus of some sort.

"This looks like grave goods," Fledge objected anxiously, making both of them turn to him: he pointed at a long black saber exposed in an open chest. His fingers trembled when he reached for it, mumbling, "Just look now, there's a gem in the hilt, so it must have been some noble's-"

The moment when Fledge curled his fingers around the hilt to lift the saber, there was a faint creaking sound – and it crumbled to pathetic chunks of black substance that trickled from Fledge's trembling hand onto the ground.

"Now you've probably attached some mummy's curse to you," Groose scoffed, but gave his rapidly paling companion a hearty slap on his back. "Lucky for you this isn't a tomb, eh?"

Link's attention wandered as he dusted off his rough gear and let his eyes wander over the burial objects. He saw more of that black material that had crumbled under Fledge's touch, ruinous cloth that had kept little color, and more of that fluorescent moss. There was no clue about the purpose of the chamber, the mosaics remained mysterious and randomly arranged. In the middle of the platform, where the casket should have stood, there was merely a fissure as long as his hand and shaped like a willow's leaf. Too large for a switch of reasonable size and too small for a pillar, and there was no sight of anything like that.

"A sword," Link whispered tonelessly, his chest tightening with a steep dread.

"Another one?!" Groose scanned the chamber, then held out the shaft of the pickax he used for climbing and digging. "Catch!"

He scooped an object up with the worn wood and tossed it over, ignoring Fledge's squeal of protest. Link caught it on instinct; something cold and heavy with a round shape and a chasing that bit his battered hands.

Groose huffed in triumph. "_That_ didn't crumble, now did it?!"

It was a bangle made from massive gold. Link lifted it, examining it gently, however, the blood from the cuts kept smearing dark blots onto the metal. It had a dull shine that betrayed its age, and Link didn't realize that he tried in vain to wipe the blood off, only greasing it even more.

It was cold in his hands, rifty and it felt as if it hummed…

"Link," Fledge's voice cut in, trembling slightly. "Please put that down. Let's just leave, this is a tomb, and we're not grave robbers…"

Groose sighed, waving the torch. "Fine, fine, we didn't come for those silly clay swords anyway. Get moving, and we won't tell a soul – Link, you wanna keep that or what?!"

As if he'd been caught doing something disrespectful, Link tossed the bangle aside and wiped his hands on his tunic. Suddenly, he remembered what they were supposed to be doing – and that Fledge had to be right about this place, what were they thinking? They shouldn't have come to the temple in first place. _He _shouldn't have come.

Link wasn't going to dwell on the strange excitement he'd felt in the tunnel, crawling in the stifling dark, the determination that went against reason. And the sight of his blood on the ancient gold.

Or the feeling that it had sighed when red life smeared it.

_Master._

A soft, so soft chuckle as chapped and still smooth as old gold.

_Oh, my master._

/

_A/N: Welcome to this new project of mine, in case anyone made it this far! I finally got my hands on enough time to write this down; it will be a longer project again._

_The setting is, as it is always the risk with me, AU-ish, set in a Hyrule that I will introduce to you in the following chapters. I earnestly hope that I will be able to capture Ghirahim's character better in this one and avoid having to twist the arm of plot convenience. As always, I cherish reviews very much, they are an important source of motivation. But I accept the skepticism against AU._

_Other game-characters may appear during the story; and I do mean the rating. It's a given with Ghirahim._

_I hope you will enjoy!_


	2. Whispering

**Chapter one: Whispering**

Darkness jerked Link awake, and for a second, he felt like massive stone hovered over him, leaving him just enough space for shallow breaths. When it vibrated, it felt like it drew air to collapse and crush his body into a bloody, mushy heap...

But it was merely the darkness of night, this was the low ceiling of his room, and what rested on his chest was just a blanket. Link exhaled and let himself relax into the straw-filled matress, listening to the soft crackling sound that his movement made. Yes, this was his room, and he must have dreamed, though his brain had carelessly disposed of the memory, and he was glad for it. He had considered deepening his sleep with something that burned its way in his throat, but if it made waking up less appealing, what good did it do against nightmares? Link wiped his crusted eyes and blinked into the thick blackness of his small room. It was so dark that he couldn't see anything, not even moonlight since the night was obviously cloudy. Still, knowing this place, it was comforting to know he'd be able to find his way around without his eyes, and he could feel the rough texture of cloth and smell cool, stale air mixed with wood and the muted sharpness of old leather.

Feeling much more at ease, Link breathed through his nose again. His mouth was dry, and he suddenly felt thirsty and longed for some kind of taste to simply enjoy the feeling of something. He tugged at his blanket and braced his abs to lift himself and sit up.

Except that he couldn't do it, because something _blocked_ him.

"Welcome to the world of waking life, honored one."

The clear amusement that hummed in the deep voice belied the respectful choice of words, and Link felt something shift on his chest and push him deeper into the mattress - the flexible pressure of a foot. He had never imagined it, and his heart suddenly lurched, sealing his voice in his throat. He froze, the paralysis of prey.

A chuckle resonated in the small room, and the pressure of the foot eased, though Link could feel the toes curling through a surprisingly thin sole. A chill crept through him as he, who knew this room so well, tried to remember where exactly he had placed his boot-dagger.

Did this man mean to kill him? He'd had his chance when Link was sleeping, but there were those who preferred torture or came for information, leaving a victim alive until they had made sure they had gotten out what they needed. The temple, they couldn't know about the tomb, he hadn't told-

"Master."

The single word rung like a bell's chime. Link suddenly shivered, and the foot slid from his chest, withdrawing to the narrow window ledge. Link knew he had secured the shutters with a wooden bolt, and it shouldn't have escaped his sharp ears when someone burgled it. And he hadn't been careless.

"What do you want?"

Link's voice was hoarse, but he was relieved to hear that it wasn't shaking. He assumed that there was more than one person here uninvited - the speaker and the one on the ledge. He didn't know yet who he would have to bargain with, though the first one to be attacked was the one closest to him, who had likely found the way in and would be the more dangerous opponent. Link willed his sleep-stiff muscles to move, pressing his palms to the mattress to let them creep to the edges.

"How awfully bold to cut right to the core like this. But of course, your wish is my heart's desire." Again, the servile wording failed to appear submissive, just bordering to a taunt. The overblown style had a strange, slightly guttural accent to it that Link couldn't quite place.

He covered the almost inaudible hiss of fabric with a seemingly defenseless turning of his head towards the window; his fingertips grazed the worn hilt of his boot-dagger, tugged between the mattress and the bedframe. Finally.

A plank creaked weakly somewhere above them, likely in another room – the sound made Link's hair stand on end, and his palms began so sweat ever so slightly. He curled his fingers around the hilt and the familiar jacket of ray skin around it. The blade would come free within an instant.

The next sound would be his start signal.

"I have followed the chant of your blood to lay down my troth at your feet, to pledge my deepest loyalty."

Link leapt up like an oiled spring, his ears guiding his body with death-defying speed. The blade of his dagger sliced air, flitting through the darkness like a bat.

And found nothing.

Link stopped the swing of his arm and jerked it back, losing balance at his own sudden movement. He felt like a man uselessly fighting shadows, but a tavern-instinct reacted to the feeling of stumbling backwards. And instincts knew no elegance.

Flailing his arms literally at hit or miss as his body reeled, Link rammed his elbow into darkness and hooked it – this time, it did connect with something solid that couldn't compensate for the force of weight and crashed onto the wooden floor, followed by Link himself. He went down for the second time within hours, this time under jangling and jarring and the honest pain of an undamped fall. He lost his orientation in the dark, but even as his other senses faltered, his keen sense of smell registered something odd that he was all too conversant with: the smells of rust and oil and resin, mixed so closely that they became one. _Blade._

It was Link's last clear thought before something abruptly cut off his breath and tossed him off like a foul tomato. Against his will, his hand lost the grip of his dagger, and blinding light engulfed his vision with stinging intensity.

Just as Link realized that it was actually very real light that made his pupils struggle, the voice cut through his soaring panic with a single, whispering sigh.

"Oh master… You should dread my loyalty."

Link was very sure that there weren't nearly enough lamps in this room installed to generate such brightness, and the light of tallow candles was usually yellowish and unsteady – this was so white it hurt his eyes. While his right hand dully pawed for the dagger, he held the other one over his face and forced himself to blink. If he was to die on a floor, he would do it with his eyes open.

The first blurred object he was able to see was a meaningless detail, as if his stare instantly latched onto something it recognized. A bangle made from massive, tarnished gold with dark, crumbly specks of blood. It shone scornfully.

"I am most honored to learn that you think me worthy of crossing swords with you… I await your next order," the voice piped with cheerful condescendence.

Link gritted his teeth and sat up, struggling to his feet, finally having found his dagger. He didn't feel any serious pain, and although he was still dazzled from the brightness around him, the voice sounded far enough away to not reach him instantly. He could make out a single figure, tall and… grey. He didn't even hesitate before he threw the dagger, knowing that this was likely his last chance of defense. Only then did his eyes follow.

The man was alone, a figure so grey as if it was made of hearth ash. That grey skin, white brows and lips like wood dust, and brown eyes that hadn't burned down yet, but hummed with piercing heat. These eyes were entirely focused on Link, never leaving him with a calm, intense attention. There was hair like cobweb… and then he jerked his head to the side; the dagger dug into the crack of a wooden panel and got stuck, still trembling.

Link lowered his hand and his vision fully cleared. For a moment, his blue eyes locked with brown ones, full of surprise. Cobwebs fell and soundlessly covered the man's shoulder and his dark-red cloak, made from heavy brocade.

_Sorry for cutting your hair. I meant to cut your throat instead._

The intruder stared at the fine strands that had been severed with neat precision, leaving an angular trim close to his face. Link saw muscles twitch beneath his eyes, the skin of his jaw became tense with the realization that he had been fast, but not fast enough.

His dagger was stuck, and he didn't have any more weapons close by. Link stepped forward to avoid getting trapped with his back against a wall, and raised his fists in a more threatening fashion than he actually felt. As far as he could tell, both of them were unarmed; however, the red cloak covered most of the upper body, making it easy to hide slim blades.

The grey man wore no kind of protective garment, but Link thought he recognized the white, close-fitting suit underneath the cloak as an antiquated form of clothing to be worn underneath a plate mail. It included a broad belt, no scabbard hung from it. Only a large, diamond-shaped disk that protected the vulnerable tissue and arteries of his right groin: it looked like a solid version of the floating crystals that emanated this strong light and hovered above them at the low ceiling.

Magic. He was using magic!

"How did you get in here?"

Link injected a brisk note into his hoarse, sleep-rough voice – not enough to be daunting, he felt.

The man swept loose strands of hair from his shoulders as if he dusted off dirt. The hair on the left side of his head now fell over his face, too short to disappear behind his neck like it did on the right side. His right ear was pointed and almost horizontal, longer than Link had seen any Hylian's.

"I followed," an arm shot out to point a somewhat dramatic finger at Link, "to complete what you neglected." He bared his teeth, exposing fangs that were dishearteningly sharp. "You have given me something of yours, and you are to have something of me."

The bangle blotted with Link's blood on the arm pointing at him was an undeniable reminder on _what _Link had given him without meaning to. He swallowed dryly, the urge to avert his eyes growing.

"That is no answer."

"It is." The man smiled and spread his arms as if to embrace him. "We are connected by the red snare of fate, and you were caught in it. _You are to become the stalwart harbinger of a grandiose new era!_"

"Will you leave if I ask you to?"

He was dangerous, and he was clearly out of his mind. Old stories of mad tomb spirits came uninvited to Link's mind, suggesting pictures of crawling corpses and ravaging demons – though those tales never included that they talked this much. Link couldn't let his guard down, and he knew that just the presence of this being in his room could get him into back-breaking trouble. So far, maybe no one had heard them or seen the light creeping through the cracks. But the walls were thin, and one glance of this man would tell anyone that he was a creature forbidden to even enter the city.

Not to mention forbidden to exist.

The man plucked the dagger from the panel and gave Link an almost polite smile. "Do you mean to reject the kingly gift of my loyalty, master?" The minatorial timbre was hardly to be ignored. Link forced himself to lower his fists, even though he was every bit on guard, and cleared his throat.

"We-… I didn't mean to disturb your tomb. And I am sorry for tearing down the wall, I can repair the damage. That's all I can offer you. Give me my dagger."

The grey man just smiled again, the purple lines that deepened the skin beneath his eyes crinkled slightly. "You are not listening well, master," he informed calmly and inspected the dagger critically. "You were meant to find my cavern. And from this day on… you don't need any other weapon."

With that, he snapped the blade of the dagger like a twig and dropped it together with the hilt to the floor.

Link gasped as his heart lurched at the dry sound. Until this moment, he had never realized that the trusted dagger was this dear to him, and seeing it get broken like it was made of candy pierced a sudden pain through his chest.

The man looked around the small room in a parody of considerate respect for Link's stunned silence. He wrinkled his nose delicately at the worn furniture and the equipment spread there. "To be honest, I had expected the glorious savior to be a bit more… majestic. I shouldn't be surprised to find you unfamiliar with the protocol."

"You broke my dagger!" Forgetting his fear of magic, Link stepped forward and picked up the halves of the weapon, even when he knew the damage was beyond repair.

The man regarded him with an unimpressed boldness that made very clear how very little his character was suited for the humble servant he was supposed to represent with his words.

"You mutilated my face," he hissed venomously, and Link doubted it was a joke. The silvery strands of hair shone from the ground as if to remind him.

As if he had forgotten his anger, the man suddenly went to his knees with fluent grace and took Link's hands; but his grip was strong and adamant. He wore thin gloves, an elastic material meant to protect the fingers from the roughness of gauntlets; they were almost silky, and for a split second, Link was overwhelmed by the strange situation of someone, _anyone_ kneeling before him.

"I am the Divine Splint of the First Dynasty, forged in the depths of Pandemonium by His Celestial Majesty Demise; my name is Ghirahim. You have awoken me, and you shall wield me and utilize me in any way that serves you. My blade shall always stand between you and your opponent, that I swear by my own blade."

It was a formal oath, Link sensed, lunatic words that he could not understand or even accept. And yet, he could not interrupt what the creature named Ghirahim declaimed with such sudden, grave passion. He could not even jerk his hands away, overwhelmed and numb with an instinct to flee.

Ghirahim pressed his lips ghostly into the palm of Link's right hand, his weapon-hand, a fleeting caress that felt strangely playful even though it wasn't. The broken, still deadly sharp bottom of the dagger blade on the hilt came so close to Ghirahim's face that it would merely have taken a twitch of Link's wrist to bury it in his eye.

Link felt feverish and nearly crushed by something that seemed even heavier than masses of ancient stone and moss.

"Douse that light," he said softly, finally sounding as weak as he should.

/

It wasn't a dream, that at least was painfully clear.

The magic lanterns had been extinguished with a prosaic snap of Ghirahim's long fingers, and now he occupied the narrow chest that Link used to store his clothes with regal grace. Tallow candles now lit the room, giving off a slightly rancid smell and sick light.

It was odd how even they couldn't break the peregrine beauty Ghirahim possessed.

Link pressed his right palm flat against his knee and breathed in. The mattress he sat on shifted alluringly, though the idea of sleep was now, sadly, a flat joke.

"A sword," he remarked, grasping one of the things that made the least sense – again, sadly, this whole situation was made of these things. The only clear fact that there was a magic-wielding man in his room whom he wouldn't get rid of easily.

Ghirahim nodded patiently, very much like he was talking to an imbecile. Obviously, his oath didn't forbid him to consider his master an idiot.

"You regard yourself as a living weapon with a name," Link tried again, suggesting gently that Ghirahim's sense of self was out of order. If he used magic, it was to be expected – and no one could tell what else this magic had thrown out of balance.

"My maker honored me with my name; the protocol dictates the master to choose the new name." Ghirahim made a pause for effect, looking around skeptically. "Though with reference to this place and the name you let yourself go by, I thought it wise to keep it. I'd have ended up with something like Fido or Debbie otherwise."

Actually, Link had very different names in mind right now. Ones that didn't lack creativity in their meaning.

"You are not a sword right now."

Link felt like someone playing tug-o-war with so much rope piled around him that he should have won the game long ago already.

"Perceptive, master," Ghirahim drawled, obviously having run out of reverence again. "I turn into a sword when you summon me as your weapon. I can't transform on my own unless my energy level is critically low."

Did that mean he couldn't run out and demonstrate his powers to the world without allowance? Link felt hesitant hope rising. This could be his opportunity to shift this predicament back before Ghirahim had his mind set.

Link was going to pretend he didn't already appear _very_ determined.

"Unfortunately, I don't possess magic-" _Thank the Goddess!_ "-so I cannot summon you."

Ghirahim looked at him as if he had declared that whacking his head with a mace was the easiest way to scratch an itching scalp.

"When you offered me your blood, you forged the bond and gained the sole right to control my blade. If you had accepted something of me that moment, you would feel it. Instead, you chose to scramble off, and _what by the gates of Pandemonium does it mean that you don't have magic?!"_

Ghirahim's fist crashed down on the upper shell of the chest he was sitting on, raising splinters of wood to trickle from it. Brown eyes blazed with such outrage that Link had no idea why he had even tried to be gentle with an ancient relict that understood so little.

"If I had magic, my head wouldn't rest on my shoulders much longer!", he snapped, glaring at Ghirahim without polite reserve.

"You have me now. I suffice to keep your head where it belongs," Ghirahim huffed and crossed his arms – suddenly, Link felt more exasperated than angry with him, even when he knew the latter would serve him better. Weaving his fingers together between his knees, he eyed the so-called sword again.

"I don't know which century you come from…" Ghirahim lifted a brow, but for once wisely didn't interrupt, "… but the practice of magic is strictly forbidden, and has been for generations. Knowledge of magic or the possession of artifacts is enough for years of imprisonment; the penalty for the proven use of magic is death."

The room was eerily silent, making the creaking of floor boards somewhere in the building even louder. Link couldn't read all of the stunned expression Ghirahim wore, but he knew that he had been understood.

"And who, pray tell, took the liberty of deciding this?" His voice trembled with poorly veiled wrath, so low that Link could have pretended he hadn't heard.

"The Spirit Maidens of the Goddess heralded this to be Hylia's will for decades." And so far, the Goddess hadn't disagreed, as far as anyone could tell. But the rumor that the holy incarnations had become worldly existed since the prohibition of magic. No one could deny that the sorcerous powers had once done terrible harm to the cult of Hylia and the population, but the ban had never been softened, and the Sheikah had withdrawn from the temples. Doubts like these were blasphemy – Link had considered himself lucky to pay little attention to this issue. And with any remaining luck, he could go back to it, preferably before he was arrested.

Ghirahim's face had grown as dark as a thunderhead, but to Link's surprise, he said nothing.

Link got up from his bed and carefully swept the severed strands of hair from the floor. They felt smooth as silk, and perhaps it was a tad bit disrespectful to dispose of them like trash.

"This must not hinder us."

Ghirahim reached up, and his hand disappeared behind the curtain of his shortened hair, seemingly unhooking something from the ear Link couldn't see. When the hand returned, it held a diamond-shaped red garnet the size of a blackbird's egg. He brushed it thoughtfully with his thumb, weighing it in his palm as if he hesitated to part with it.

"You are meant to free my race from imprisonment, and destiny decided this to happen now. No one else is capable of breaking the seals-"

Link placed the collected strands of hair next to Ghirahim on the chest and straightened again, making an effort of sounding like he had any understanding for the direction Ghirahim took now. "I've learned that imprisonments are seldom without reason – I'd rather not interfere."

Ghirahim shot a lurking glance up at him. "You consider it just to restrict those with the gift of magic?"

"It's been much longer since demons disappeared from Hyrule." Link shook his head and peeled remaining hair from his fingers. "Even if your race was peaceful, war would be declared to carry out the will of the Goddess."

"And if my people don't give a holy damn about Hyrule?" Ghirahim's brown eyes sparkled in the dim light with the same strange passion they had held when he had knelt before Link. A passion that made Link freeze, even when he should have known not to listen…

"My folk were never meant to roam the surface, master. Where we are born is above the clouds, in the arms of the skies – if you had ever been to those places, you would feel the pain of being restrained from there. A longing _you_ of all mortals should understand."

Ghirahim's fingers gently curled around Link's numb hand and pressed the garnet into his palm, closing his hand around it. For a moment, Link wondered whether he would kiss it again. And then he wondered whether it would relieve or disappoint him when the white lips kept moving.

As the warm stone touched his skin, Link felt nothing of the connection Ghirahim had spoken of, and _that_ definitely relieved him. He didn't need more elements of crime.

"I don't-", he started, but Ghirahim cut him off by getting up, his heavy coat moving almost without a sound. The brocade was embroidered with intricate symbols that faintly reminded Link on Sheikah traditions, and it probably provided for another offense against Hylian law.

"You will." Ghirahim's voice was low and soft. "I do not bond with failure." He smiled with a vicious hint of hunger. "And I do not draw energy from it either."

Link finally found the presence of mind to drop the garnet and take a step back, cursing quietly that his dagger was broken.

"Enough already! I won't dig up seals, I won't use magic, and I won't supply some kind of _energy_!"

"You should sleep," Ghirahim replied, unusually pragmatic now. If he minded his gift lying at his feet any more than Link's rejection, he didn't let on.

Link growled harshly. "I should call the guard."

Ghirahim furrowed his elegant white brows. "I said _sleep_."

The world turned black and simple.

/

_A/N: There's so much more I wanted to put into this chapter, but I was afraid to overstuff it. So I will leave the interesting subject of energizing for the next one._

_I'm very glad you guys liked the prologue – and I'd go as far as to say that the GhiraLink-fandom has a high percentage of people reviewing exceptionally amusing, and that makes it so great._

_Viviane Renard pointed out that the explosion scene in the prologue wasn't very clear, and that is correct – I'm sorry. For once, I have a good excuse for not fixing that sooner, but I did now._


	3. Seizing

**Chapter two: Seizing**

Link had the idea that he should have felt like he'd been run over by a carriage recently – but he was distressingly well-rested and relaxed as he opened his eyes. The shutters of his room were open, generating a draft of cool morning air that was filled with the scents of a city waking up. His palms and fingers were sore, he remembered rubbing ointment over the cuts and bruises he had gotten while climbing. He should get a bandage to let them heal faster.

Careful to not crack any scabs, Link flexed his fingers. Aside from the soreness and the chapped callused skin on his fingertips, they were fine. He didn't recall rubbing anything raw on his wrist, so he felt for that small tugging sensation; inspecting small wounds was a good way of seizing a chance to lie still for a moment longer. Living alone, you soon got used to outsmarting yourself.

Maybe it was the reason why he didn't move as he blinked and lifted his wrist from the mattress, staring in disbelief at the silvery braid that kept a garnet dangling from his arm.

"Welcome to the world of waking life, master… which you neglected for quite a while. I do choose to interpret this as your feeling of comfortable security taking over while I kept watch."

Link had a heavily sinking feeling in his stomach as he sat up and pushed his cover away with his feet. His head spun with possible things to say, but his uneasiness was quickest. "Did you sleep at all?!"

Ghirahim regarded him dryly from his place on the window ledge, and Link couldn't help but noticing that the creature had again sought out a place higher than his supposed master.

"It seems to that I've indeed slept for too long."

If he was bluffing, he made excellent work of it – Ghirahim's face didn't betray any fatigue, his sharp features had a cool agelessness to them that seemed inviolable.

As Link had guessed, the window was open, streaming the small room with air and pale sunlight. Due to his place, Ghirahim blocked the dawn with his back, clouding his face while his hair gleamed as blindingly white as fresh snow. Although the long shadow was contorted and eerily inhuman, the strange sight burned itself into Link's mind. It was almost like… If he had ever wondered what an epiphany would look like, maybe it would be this. The fey image of a creature untouchable…

The window. The hair. Link started up from his bed, suddenly very aware that Ghirahim was merrily visible for _all the damn very real world._

"Get away!", he hissed and yanked the demon by his arm. Caught off guard, Ghirahim slid from the ledge, but as soon as he had regained his footing, he straightened and glared at Link with the same indignation that priests in the town hall reserved for heretics.

"What was that, o sun of my existence? An order?"

His free arm shot up, and he curled his fingers around Link's wrist. The sharpness of his nails was dulled by his gloves, but they pressed into the artery with enough force to hinder the bloodstream. Link quelled any sign of pain or fear; he recognized the vicious gleam in Ghirahim's brown eyes, the challenge to prove strength. A trait of wild animals, and if experience was anything to go by, it was wrong to respond to their expectation.

"You are my guest. Keep out of sight."

The brief surprise that passed Ghirahim's still shaded face was almost comical; then his tongue, dark like blackberry juice, slipped between his lips and touched the corner of his mouth.

"I might be used to quite different laws of hospitality, especially now that I've stayed a night in your noble chambers…"

Link's train of thoughts tumbled at once. He had never taken history lessons, not that he even knew what time Ghirahim came from, and it was very likely that this was only a bluff. Nonetheless, his first reaction was to pull away and gain distance.

Ghirahim, however, was quick. Hooking his foot behind Link's heel, he swiftly blocked him from stepping backwards without stumbling. He brought their faces close, smiling languidly. There were a dozen of mean tricks to break away, no weapons were involved. Though pride could be as vulnerable as flesh at times.

Link's unfaltering nerves had brought predators stronger than him to their knees, and yet, his pulse hammered perfidiously below Ghirahim's nails. Still, his voice was steady and sonorous. "Let go."

"If you took the hilt of your destiny, I would obey you. If you were to recognize the scepter of power, I would bow to you." Ghirahim's lips thinned as he hissed those words through his teeth, his provocation dipping into vehemence again. The violet color of his lower eyelids gave his eyes the semblance of a bloodshot madman's stare – insanity, the punishment that struck those who violated the will of Her Grace.

Or it was the healthy craziness of someone stuck in a crumbling temple for a very long time.

"You will."

Link braced himself against an overblown objection, but to his surprise, it was as if Ghirahim hadn't heard him at all. With a strength that didn't seem to be fit for his slim arm, he began to lift Link's wrist as if they were arm-wrestling. Small droplets of blood had oozed from Link's cuts under the sudden pressure, staining his already colorful fingers. They probably ached, but the feeble pain was unnoticeable as Ghirahim dipped his head slightly, close enough to feel shallow breath. His lips parted again, as if he was unsure whether he tried to breathe more or…

The instinct of self preservation kicked in with force.

Link crooked his first two fingers and jabbed them forward, aiming for the delicate tissue below the eyes. Ghirahim yanked his head back on reflex – a moment when he focused on protecting the vulnerable spot. It was all the time necessary. Link wrenched his wrist free and stepped back (with a little stumble he could well have done without). Closing the shutters, he reduced the sunny brightness to twilight again.

"I have my hands too full for a hilt of destiny right now," he declared evenly and turned to Ghirahim again, who regarded him with a decidedly disgruntled air.

"Like you are too much of a human for magic." He was obviously being sarcastic, but Link's stomach did an uneasy roll at the last word. "I do not-"

"You were acting on instinct."

_My last confirmed instinct was to ram my fingers up your eye sockets._

In the light of day, dealing with Ghirahim seemed a lot harder. Link knew that there was no way to humor this creature, especially because he had no intention of going on a highly illegal and unpaid quest. Unfortunately, for all his pretense of being inferior, Ghirahim was bound and determined – and obviously considered his means to be justified by the end. After the dagger was broken, Link didn't have any weapons on him, and he couldn't protect himself against magic.

How exactly had he gotten himself into water this hot?

"If this offended you-"

"Quite the contrary. I'm deeply pleased." Ghirahim flipped his hair, and Link realized that his hair on the other side of his head was now short as well, as if he meant to show off his pointed ear. "So very deeply," the demon repeated, his voice touching a throaty purr that sent a chill down Link's spine. Something had gone wrong again…

Holding up his hands in defense, he tried again. Maybe he should just call for help… and get arrested for complicity, but it was starting to sound less threatening already.

"I don't think there's any reason."

Ghirahim smiled dotingly at him as if he was a dog that had finally learned to give paw. "You don't understand yet, and still you offer. Your blood."

Link involuntarily dropped his hands and pressed them to his sides. His fingertips stung as sweat met the cuts. "What about it?"

"I require your blood for energy."

Ghirahim's expression was solemn, but his voice betrayed a hint of almost sensual longing – and sadistic amusement. "It's what you sacrificed for my sake, a small toll to pay. Though never fear, master… I only exert my power when I reside in my true form." Impatience and humor mixed into a queer cocktail as he added bountifully: "A Divine Splint would never weaken his master."

If he could afford it right now, Link would have felt plenty weak already – the idea of giving someone his blood for food was downright perverse. He had never considered committing magic; and there was one solid reason why it was not recommendable either.

"You're not hungry now, are you?" Link rubbed his fingers dry on the simple shirt he wore for sleeping, almost nervous at the feeling of his own blood drumming in his ears.

Ghirahim's ever-shifting moods now bestowed mild annoyance and a dark smirk unto him. "See for yourself, master."

The garnet dangled from his arm without ostentation; Link had forgotten about it, and it unsettled him. He never wore jewelry since it could get caught anywhere, so it wasn't natural for him to get used to it so quickly. Lifting his wrist, he inspected it: the thin braid was simple and made from white strands that he recognized only too well. It was an unremarkable trinket – as long as no one noticed that there was no knot holding it together. It was as if the strands had simply melted into each other, and Link suddenly guessed why Ghirahim had cut his remaining hair short.

Swallowing dryly, he met Ghirahim's now warning smirk. What choice did he have? Link carefully closed his fingers around the smooth gem. It was awkward enough, he had no idea how he was even supposed to open himself up to something as depraved as magic. His sticky fingers curled around Ghirahim's gift as he willed himself to relax…

He felt absolutely nothing.

Link was disappointed against his better judgment. Despite the restrictions of Hylia, he had been curious to experience the sin of magic – only to find out that he hadn't lied to Ghirahim. _He did not have an ounce of magic at all._

"It doesn't work," he concluded.

Link was observant enough to catch a glimpse of doubt in the demon's face before it was replaced by a dismissive wave of his hand. "You still shield yourself from _merging_ with me, master."

Somehow, Ghirahim succeeded in making this sound entirely sexual, and a glint in his eyes told Link that he knew this only too well.

Whoever Demise was, he had obviously had an odd sense of humor to construct a weapon this lecherous and reckless.

As if he had read his thoughts, Ghirahim leered and shifted his weight. "Now that all your ingenuous questions are answered, may I suggest we leave?"

_You didn't answer at all._

"Where to?"

The irony was thick, but Ghirahim's skin in this regard was thicker. He ran his tongue over his lips, smiling subtly. "To fate, master. I figured you won't need many goodbyes."

The abrasive remark died on Link's lips as he belatedly took notice of his room. He had never been a very tidy person, but certain objects needed to be tended, and he was always careful about his equipment. The belongings in the small room weren't an outright chaos, they were simply… disarranged. As if someone had inspected them and not bothered to reorder them.

Ghirahim breathed an elegant sigh and lifted something with the tips of his fingers, eyeing it disparagingly. Between his pristine white gloves, the faded pink ribbon looked almost shabby and battered.

Link inhaled abruptly as if he had jumped into cold water. He had to be out of his mind to tolerate this creature – Hylia knew what danger he was putting himself and others in now. He had to concede that he could not deal with this alone; he needed the help of the spirit maidens. If Zelda recognized the gravity of the situation, she would intervene without including their personal history.

Hopefully. Link wasn't very _practiced_ in trusting the servants of the Goddess.

Had his thoughts showed on his face? Link quickly tried to summon the doubtful expression that he must have worn and instantly felt like he was luring an animal into a trap. Which he did, even though this was no animal. And he wasn't leading a lamb to the slaughter, either; Ghirahim venerated him for being some kind of lord to him, but this hardly veiled his readiness for violence. The moment Link put up any real resistance, he'd turn bloodthirsty.

The ranger forced an adventurous smile.

"Fate it is," he agreed, and the garnet nestled heavily up against his arm.

/

The path of rectitude turned out to be a little rocky – and more than a tad bit demanding.

Even after he'd made his decision, the Great Temple of Hylia hadn't moved any closer, and Link found himself faced with a new problem: how was he supposed to take someone as… _striking_ as Ghirahim there without rousing his suspicion and a generous mob ready for lynch law?

Even if Link had owned a cloak long enough for Ghirahim's quite tall figure, it would draw attention in broad daylight. This wouldn't have occurred at night, and Link couldn't quite remember why he hadn't taken measures hours ago and had instead gone to sleep. His memory was a little fuzzy there…

Ghirahim folded his arms and regarded him with dismissively concealed exasperation, an expression that began to grow familiar already.

"If you wish to transport me," he drawled, "why is it so dreadfully infeasible to turn me into my true form?" He titled his head and added under his breath: "As much as you must cherish my overwhelmingly stunning physique, that is why I was forged."

Suddenly, a little bit of blood seemed a very low price for the silence of this… thing.

Link hesitated. He never carried a sword, so if he met friends or acquaintances on his way, he was bound to appear strange. And while Ghirahim was easily identifiable as a creature of magic, would a simple sword be enough to convince the guards? Bringing weapons into the temple was, of course, forbidden. How would he explain how he had come across this sword when Hylia's priests had sanctified Hyrule of magic long ago?

And yet, what choice did he have? His only other option was to leave Ghirahim be – and bring danger over everyone living here.

Link cleared his throat. "Alright. I'll try."

Ghirahim didn't smile. He didn't even move. But his unspectacular brown eyes melted into a brightness that instantly softened his sharp features, and he drew in a short breath, as if he suppressed a sound.

It wasn't much, and still it was a mean little sting just below Link's ribcage. No matter how accurately he had assessed Ghirahim's character, how corrupt and vicious he might actually be, the creature trusted him with unreasonable wholeheartedness. The master was there, and that was all Ghirahim seemed to need.

Link pushed the thought aside and gave Ghirahim a look of both expectance and resignation. "Is there an incantation or something?"

He meant to sound serious, but Ghirahim again displayed a wonderful ability to be immediately offended. "Are you suggesting that the glorious harbinger and his sword need a ridiculous singsong?!"

_And this is the point where it would be easier to just whack him over the head and drag him to the Temple._

Temptation was strong, especially when Ghirahim glared at him as if he had just broken every law of decency – or at least every second. After Link had stated to know nothing about magic, how could this be a surprise?

"I'm not experienced with this." Link made a vague gesture at the garnet.

He thought he imagined a fleeting gleam of understanding in Ghirahim's still slightly huffy countenance, a flash of genius maybe. The creature relaxed unexpectedly, and a slow smirk took the place of his frown. "I see. Please accept my sincere apology for failing to conceive."

He made a very elegant bow from his hip, shifting to the behavior of a solicitous servant so fast that Link immediately blushed. Maybe Ghirahim was contrite to have elaborated the inability of his master again.

"If you were in imminent danger, you would of course not hesitate to call upon my powers," Ghirahim asserted in a matter-of-fact-tone, and Link let the matter rest for the moment.

"Never fear, master – I will unsnare this trifle." He clapped his hands, the sound was dulled by his gloves as fingers intertwined gracefully. Ghirahim boldly jerked his chin, spreading a wave of uneasy anticipation through Link's muscles. "Make yourself comfortable."

Was he going to perform a magic ritual now? Hylia guard him, this was not happening! If he'd ever had a chance for salvation, he was properly ruining it. Unless the Goddess appreciated his good will. Still, Link was much more worried about her priests, who were said to be able to detect every hint of magic…

"_Sit._"

Ghirahim's sharp command was clearly impatient, and Link perched himself on the edge of his bed without thinking. Ghirahim nodded approvingly, not a scrap submissive, and reached up. The clasp of his heavy coat creaked softly as he unhooked it, the massive chain of gold dropped. Ghirahim removed the cape with an own concinnity; his shoulders beneath the fabric weren't remarkably broad, his slim arms rather belonged to a noble than to a knight. If Link hadn't remembered the strength or those arms, he would have thought him weak. Now, there was a deadly grace in his movements.

As if to break the spell, Ghirahim carelessly dropped the coat to the floor, then stepped towards Link. "Close your eyes, and breathe deeply, master."

Link was far away from abandoning the security of his eyesight, and by now, his heart drummed so hard that he was glad he hadn't yet had the chance to eat anything. His hands were itching to hold a weapon to protect him.

"You can't mean to use magic on me," he croaked, the dryness of his throat reflected his rising fear more clearly than he liked.

A delicate crease appeared between Ghirahim's brows. He leant forward, seemingly trying hard to not be offended again. "I don't _need_ magic for this." His voice was a mixture of a hiss and a murmur. Link screwed his eyes shut with a sudden flash of panic and held his breath. If Ghirahim could read his face, then there was nothing he could do. Even though the Spirit Maidens wouldn't hurt him; they hadn't hurt the Sheikahs, either, this was probably some sealing-thing…

Silk touched his temples, cool and gentle. The contact was faint and traveled down his face without rushing, gliding over his skin with the smoothness of water. Link instinctively exhaled as the touch crept up his neck, softly parting his hair. The nerves at the base of his skull tingled, humming contently at the attention they scarcely got. Link tentatively breathed in again, his tension subsiding a little. Even with so little effort, it felt good, more than good, like hot water loosening stubborn fibers of his body. With another exhale, a tiny sigh escaped as silk traveled lazily down his bare arms, a playful gust of warm air tickled his chin. Then there was a hint of moisture right there that sent an unusual weakness into his knees, had he not already been sitting. Link titled his head slightly, testing curiously what might lie ahead now. He was warm, just snugly so, and only vaguely aware of the flat silk languidly flowing over his thigh and creeping up his waistband…

Link's eyes snapped open to stare into Ghirahim's sensual half-smile just inches from him.

"What the hell are you doing, _sorcerer_?!"

Link blindly grasped for anything hard nearby, anything that could defend him against this unholy threat-

Ghirahim's face, which had just a moment ago been a mask of teasing hunger, lost its expression, his skin darkening rapidly. For the length of a racing heartbeat, Link thought he saw a metallic luster engulf Ghirahim's kneeling body as those brown eyes bled their color before disintegrating.

With a resounding thud, a saw-toothed black sword hit the wooden floor.

Link stared at it in disbelief. He had never seen a metal of this color, nor a blade with such viscous thorns. The guard was shaped like sharp wings, a deep blood groove ran to the tip, beset with symbols of eerie red. It was a weapon that emanated brutal violence like a blaze gave off heat.

Though Link, for all his shock, was a practical man: that thing was _huge_.

Putting his hands on his knees, he breathed deeply and lowered his head. He was shaking from a burst of adrenaline that he hoped dearly was neither excitement nor some magic aftereffect. When he looked up, the sword was still there, glinting dully in the dimmed light. At a rough estimate, it was in total half of Link's height, maybe even more.

Swallowing the dryness in his mouth, he got up and reached for the hilt. It was wrapped with a jacket of some sort of pliable leather that didn't slip under his sweaty fingers, and it felt oddly warm. Trying to lift the sword, Link grunted lowly – it wasn't just huge, it was damn heavy, how was he supposed to carry this?

_How _dare _you to treat me like this, how COULD you even-_

Ghirahim's thundering voice rang so suddenly in his ears that Link jerked his hand away as if he'd burned himself, sending the sword crashing to the ground again. The voice immediately fell silent when the contact broke.

He really was a sword. And his voice was in Link's head. Hylia was weighing him, and how the hell could she think he wasn't going to go Deku nuts at the end of this day?!

He had steadied himself enough to reach for the sword again when a knock on the door made him flinch.

"Link? Are you alright?"

Fledge – lousy timing as always. Link hastily looked around for a hiding place for Ghirahim. Whoever this chosen hero was, he was either freakishly large, or demons had a very optimistic view on the power of faith.

"Link? You there?"

Hiding would take too long and be too loud. Link snatched the crumpled blanket from the bed and threw it over the sword, stretching it so it covered every bit.

The door creaked and he winced, caught. But Fledge was already in the doorway.

"What are you doing down there?"

Link gritted his teeth as he imagined what a memorable sight he probably was: in his sleep clothes, on the floor on his hands and knees, almost panting and shielding a blanket with dubious outlines beneath.

Fledge's eyes wandered to the window. "Why do you keep it dark, it's almost noon," he wondered, and Link carefully slid between him and the sword without touching it. "Couldn't sleep," he lied. At least his hoarse voice supported him.

Fledge regarded him with sudden sympathy. "You dreamed about yesterday too, didn't you? I couldn't forget that tomb either. Groose won't admit, but I know it haunts him as well."

Link nodded and hoped he looked appropriately perturbed. Obviously he did, because Fledge began to fidget, changing over to his original intention.

"We missed out and… I'm sorry we hired you for nothing. The thing is, we're not… well, we won't go hunting for a while. It's a bit, you know, tough."

Tough, exactly. Especially since they hadn't made any profits in that one day. Since the hiring of a ranger was usually long-term. And since nobody _would _hire a ranger who only dug up old temples and decayed tombs. Yes, on one of them, this was rough.

Link gave an empty smile – not a convincing one, but Fledge was asking to be conciliated, even if it was lukewarm. "That's fine." Though only as long as Ghirahim was the heavier problem.

Fledge seemed relieved. "Thanks. I'm really sorry how this all turned out, if there's anything…"

_Anything besides pay, aye?_

This time, Link's smile was a bit more genuine.

"Actually, there is. I need a pushcart."

/

The bright sun felt surprisingly good on his face, and if it had been within the realms of possibility, Link would have loved to vanish into the woods and lie in the grass, eat woodland strawberries and fool around with a slingshot.

It wasn't happening, not today and not tomorrow. Link glanced down at the demonic sword wrapped in layers of ragtag blankets, sheets and canvas, then reached out to give it a careful pat. Technically, he wasn't touching the metal now…

_This is the first time I have ever been treated like a gardening tool. If you have the faintest notion what is good for you, master, it will also be the last time._

Ghirahim sounded decidedly icy, and Link thought he felt an angry pulse beneath the fabric. He sighed – the hope that Ghirahim wasn't aware of the world around him when he was in that monster of a sword had been balked very soon. And although his voice was in Link's head, the connection was one-sided, forcing him to monologize. Perhaps insanity-symptoms were cheaper by the dozen.

"I wasn't sure whether you'd fall to ashes in the sunlight."

Link grunted as he pushed the cart over a pothole. It would have been more convenient to stop this conversation, but he didn't want to risk Ghirahim getting curious. The demon hadn't asked where they were going – it seemed to suffice that Link was on the move. Since he was the chosen one, he'd know where to go.

Biting irony.

_I am not a groveling, filthy bit of vampire. I am a sword._

Ghirahim was still in a snit, and Link wished he didn't have quite so many moods. They made him annoying, but human. Even if the Spirit Maidens wouldn't hurt him…

"You drink blood."

_There's another body fluid I'd be willing to let answer my purposes. _Ghirahim made an insinuating pause and added: _That was of course before I knew my awe-inspiring master was a virgin._

"A virgin?!" Link bristled, ignoring the wry looks in his direction. More quietly, he growled: "What makes you think… I'm _not_."

Ghirahim's broad laughter was so loud Link was sure everyone on the marketplace must have heard it, and it did nothing to cool his cheeks. He could always claim it was the exertion. Surely, the codex of silly demon-swords did contain a line about not laughing at your master…

Link caught himself thinking of actually being the master and immediately sobered.

_I'm going to pretend I believe you, _Ghirahim declared amicably and audibly amused.

"I don't think this has anything to do with it."

_It does. When you said you lacked experience, I assisted you – I didn't know you unexercised in… opening yourself. If you cannot wholeheartedly embrace another existence until you melt into it, you cannot wield me._

By now, Link's cheeks were burning uncomfortably. He'd been with women, of course, and depending how you counted, he didn't think of himself as green anymore. Ghirahim's description sounded little like a roll in the hay, and he felt muzzy just thinking about what could have happened if he-

He certainly hadn't given into seduction.

"You transformed," he grumbled stiffly.

_Because you felt seriously threatened. _Ghirahim sounded more than a little offended. How often, Link had lost count by now.

_The bonding is so weak that I need contact to communicate. So weak I can't change my shape to adapt to you. So weak that we are hardly even synchronized. So weak it's a… catastrophe!_

Link had expected Ghirahim to be disappointed, though it was hard to tell from his usual huffishness. So he was even more surprised when the creature gave a low sigh and breathed in.

_You will do. You have me to protect you, after all._

The Temple of Hylia came in sight, and Link gripped the handles of the pushcart tighter.

Not his fault that this tomb-spirit was gullible. Not his fault Ghirahim had made the wrong choice. Not his fault that he wasn't going to rescue a bunch of demons in exchange for public security.

Still, he didn't feel heroic. Not at all. Some magic again.

"How's your energy?"

Ghirahim's smug expression was all but hearable. _I could use some. Maybe I rusted within the years._

He was close now, why was he even talking any longer? Maybe he was being masochistic. Link swallowed and tried a smile, the most unconvincing of the day. "Later."

Then he removed his hand from the top blanket again. It probably served him right for socializing with magic, and he had earned being conscious-stricken. Even if he wanted to turn around now-

The temple guard stepped in his way, his expression both watchful and unfriendly. "What do you want?"

Link looked up at him; for the first time, the dryness in his throat refused to be swallowed. But his voice obeyed.

"I need to speak to Lady Zelda. It's… extremely urgent."

/

_Thank you guys – both for your reviews and your patience. I reward this with an un-Christmassy chapter, and now I'm wondering whether it's too late for the discontinued Ghirahim-therapy… Probably._

_In case I don't manage another update this year, I wish you a peaceful Christmas and a fabulous New Year! And something diamond-shaped._


	4. Burning

**Chapter three: Burning**

"Her Ladyship is indisposed."

Link knew it was a lie, coming from a guard who was likely not informed of a Spirit Maiden's constitution. By now, it summoned a familiar bitter feeling that rose like bile in his throat.

For all he cared, Hylia could be a wonderful or a wretched goddess – she had denied him to do what her servants preached. Find the girl that made him happy, marry her, start a family and live productive and pious for the rest of his life. And if Hylia hadn't wanted this to happen, she surely hadn't prevented it either.

"Ask her whether she wants to see me."

The guard, middle-aged, weary from the sun and his heavy armor and in absolutely no mood to argue with a whelp who clearly only wanted to aggrandize himself, just frowned. First at Link, then at the large bundle of covers in the pushcart.

"What's that?"

"Something she needs to look at. _Only_ she."

The guard sneered and leaned onto his halberd, blocking the way. His grand behavior began to drop into brassier ways already. "Forget it, sonny. An' better do it fast."

It was difficult to say whether giving his name would improve or derogate his chances to be taken seriously – but either way, he might not be granted help here. And then there was no mistaking that he was practicing dangerous magic, and the tradition was to burn heretics at the stake. Since nobody had declared it to be outmoded.

Link steeled himself and titled his head up. The guard towered over him, yet he casually made it seem like only he had just now decided to look up.

"I need to speak to her. If you cannot let me in, fetch her. She will want to collect this." He hadn't taken the faded ribbon on purpose – when Ghirahim had played around with it so carelessly, Link had pocketed it without any thought. Perhaps he had felt like a token of affection would aid him. That, or Hylia possessed an odd sense of humor.

The guard gave the ribbon on Link's palm a depreciatory glance. "Impressive. Drop that… present off with the other offerings."

"It's not a present." Link closed his fingers around the smooth cloth, his bruised hand ached as if it meant to bleed again. If he wore gloves more frequently, he wouldn't even be here, nor would this thing in the pushcart ever have left its chamber.

"It's an engagement gift. And I'm here to answer to her proposal."

When he saw the look of studied arrogance on the guard's face drop, his stomach lurched. He could picture the thoughts, the understanding, he should have gone with the typical charade of a delivery or something else, not this, not as if he-

"Link? I thought I'd heard you."

The voice made Link stumble backwards against the pushcart as if he had discovered a venomous snake in the perfectly trimmed grass around the Temple; he pressed his hand holding the ribbon so hard against his side as if his guts would spill if he didn't.

The guard quickly bowed, the plates of his armor screeched feebly with the movement. It was an eerily fitting sound of rust and fear.

Zelda was beautiful. Link hadn't been the first one to think so, and he wouldn't be the last. She was a delicate woman of moderate height, with dark-blue eyes and blonde hair in the bright color of sunflowers. She wore a pristine gown and a thin veil over her hair, the regalia of a Spirit Maiden.

When Link had last seen her, she had loved to wear gaudy colors, practical ribbons and heavy boots. But now there was a look of confidence and peace about her, an air of religious strength and grace. She looked good. Adult. It was no wonder the Temple had wanted her so bad.

"Hello."

And he doubted she saw anything grand about him anymore.

Zelda nodded her head in greeting, letting the sapphire-encrusted clasps of her veil sparkle. For some reason, it reminded Link that he ought to bow before a Spirit Maiden. Not that he'd ever thought of bowing to Zelda before.

And yet, his hesitance must have been painfully clear, because she simply exchanged a look with the guard and then stepped aside to free the way to the inner courtyard. "Her Grace will have an open ear for your prayers, may they come from your very heart and bring you peace."

It was a common verbal blessing from the priests, and for an instance, Link had been afraid he'd burst out laughing hysterically if Zelda called him her son, even if it was just for the sake of phrasing. Not that he felt like laughing.

"I came to see you, actually," he spluttered, gripping the handle of the pushcart. All the same, he stashed away the wrinkled ribbon as fast as he could.

Zelda turned around, her smile lighted up in a way that wasn't nearly as hieratical as it should have been, flooding Link with both relief and guilt. Perhaps she had heard his words and not just his voice. Perhaps she thought he'd changed his mind about becoming a templar.

"Her Grace is patient, as you know," she said cheerfully. "It's been so long!"

_A year, actually. Even thirteen months._

The guard had caught up to the development, and his polite salute was accompanied by a sharp glance in Link's direction. "The protocol might be stressed, Mylady."

His words might as well have been a guillotine crashing down between them as Link saw Zelda's guarded expression, her sudden wariness. As if they were being watched right now, verified, the chastity of their encounter judged. An invisible authority standing behind Zelda on her every move, ready to admonish anything that might be impure.

She smoothed out a tiny crease from her veil as if the reminder had dirtied her. "We shall stay in the courtyard, then. The fountain will do your hands some good, I believe."

What she was referring to was a place that was visible, even _verifiable_, and still provided a little privacy. Link didn't know whether he should feel grateful or bitter; it was getting hard to summon strong emotions, as if the rusty vocal chords of his heart had gotten sore from the overuse of just one morning. To be honest, he merely felt exhausted.

"I need you to put this somewhere safe," he said without moving from the pushcart where Ghirahim rested in his cocoon of blankets. As eager as he was to get rid of the demonic sword, he was reluctant to let it out of his sight – mainly because nobody was aware of the creature within.

Zelda glanced at the cart, then she seemed to decide to humor Link and lifted a slender hand. A servant almost immediately appeared at her side, impressively fast for someone who had just now been called. Link knew better than that. The disciples were never far from the Maidens.

"Take this to the crypt."

It didn't feel like a lot of security, but Link supposed it was better than nothing, and he would risk his chance to talk to Zelda if he challenged her authority. Perhaps the presence of a Goddess would restrict Ghirahim – even though he hadn't even known she existed.

Link tore his gaze from the bundle and became aware that he was still squeezing his arm into his side. The garnet nudged his wrist as if to remind him that it would take more than this to escape this affair unscathed.

He gave Zelda a slightly hollow smile as they crossed the gravel walk that divided the courtyard into neat fourths and headed for the fountain in the middle. Cascades of glistening water fell from the modestly upturned palms of a marble Hylia, her empty eyes seemed to follow them as they approached. Even she seemed to be watching, and Link felt genuinely uncomfortable.

Zelda dipped her hands into the clear water; she had to bow so her long sleeves didn't get wet, as if she bowed to the Goddess herself. It was a sight meant for a tapestry or even a church window. Just that Link wasn't feeling picturesque right now.

"I need your help with something… forbidden."

Zelda's face remained impassive, but he thought he'd seen a flicker of resignation. "My powers end outside the Temple. If you have trouble-"

"It's no crime, more like an involvement," Link hurried to interrupt as he fumbled the garnet on his makeshift-bracelet up his sleeve. Zelda gently splashed his bruised hands with cool water, washing off dried blood and sweat. She frowned as she carefully pulled a splinter of wood from the palm. "It is about money, then?"

"No!" Link was appalled to hear that Zelda thought him capable of that; he pulled his hands away and shook the water off. He had been a fool to still try breaking it gently to her, especially since she seemed to have grown up a lot more than he had. He could not afford to act knightly with her, whether he did it for what they once had shared or because he felt like it was proper.

"I discovered something in the ruins of that temple in the woods. It must have been a tomb of some sort."

"Don't be childish, now." Zelda glanced at him as if his words had been banal and reached for his hands again. Stunned, he let her take them. Her soft, perfumed fingers felt soothing and kind. As if they were strong enough to take the burden from him, as if they could break Ghirahim's vicious blade like a twig.

"You must believe me that he's dangerous," Link hissed and grabbed Zelda's hands. Now they felt fragile again.

"I thought you came because you had changed your mind, Link." Her rosy lips pressed together until they lost their color. "Nobody would threaten you here. Here, you would be someone."

As speechless as Zelda's reaction made him, the irony was not lost to Link: she thought he was in a middle of a press-gang-affair or something. And she offered him the only protection she knew:

becoming a templar.

Spirit Maidens were to remain celibate, but Hylia's law dictated to ennoble the women only when they had grown up – and it was well possible that they were already betrothed until then. To avoid conflicts and affronts against fiancés and families, a Spirit Maiden was allowed to summon a male knight as her individual guard, celebrating a chaste marriage in the eyes of the Goddess. Serving as a templar guaranteed for a high status that was equal to nobility, and it was the only acceptable way of keeping a bond to the former lover.

When Zelda had been chosen, she had requested Link to come with her as her templar. And he had rejected her generous offer immediately.

Link had wondered about this for the past year in many sleepless nights. Perhaps he could turn into a believing adept for Hylia, and he could put up with ceremonial armors and accompanying Zelda like a shadow during her public duties. Maybe there was even a way to ignore that they would always be watched, just to make sure that they didn't even touch the borders of intimacy. Or get used to the fact that he was obliged to live on the ground of the Temple for the rest of his life, unless Zelda occasionally made a pilgrimage or visited another Temple. He would live a hollow existence that practically catapulted him to the gates of heaven when he finally died.

But the truth was that he couldn't. He loved Zelda, and he loved his freedom. Up to this day, Link had been sure that her love hadn't survived his decision; and yet she had never summoned a templar for herself.

Link licked his dry lips and searched for the reason that had brought him here – only to realize that he couldn't pass on to his original request without settling this. Zelda wouldn't allow letting herself be strung along.

"Please understand that I can't-"

A massive explosion cut off his words and sent both of them tumbling to the ground. Link felt dizzy, his ears rung from the shockwave and he blindly pawed for the edge of the fountain, pulling himself up on shaky legs before he helped Zelda up. He was dully aware that the explosion had temporarily deranged his equilibrium, and it had been close by. He could feel the heat around him.

Zelda covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

"The Temple!"

Flames burst from the large hole in the round dome of the Temple, as if a gigantic fist had crashed into the building. The novice quarters were on fire as well, and the air filled with thick smoke and screaming as chaos erupted.

Link snapped out of his shock; perhaps the past catastrophes had simply numbed him, a rare perk. He grabbed Zelda's shoulders and shook her insistently until her wide eyes focused on him. "That's him. Get whoever you find out of the courtyard and don't come close to any buildings until the fires are under control. Do you hear me?"

His voice felt hoarse even though it wasn't. Zelda just stared at him, her shoulders drawn up. His hands left dirty prints on her dress, as if to symbolize impurity.

"Zelda, do you hear me?"

She gave no reaction. Link cursed and yanked her to the side, dunking her into the basin and pulling her upright again. Her upper body was dripping wet, which would at least protect her from flying sparks – even if he had probably just ruined her veil and caused indecent translucence, only that he couldn't bother now.

"Go already!"

He pushed Zelda back and she stumbled, but caught herself, apparently recovering from her torpor. Her lips moved as she gripped the soaked front of her robe and clung to the fabric just over her heart.

"Hylia have mercy on you, Link, _what have you done_?"

Her shrill whisper plunged a pounding little hole through his chest as he whirled around and ran towards the crypt, almost grateful when the sounds of horror retreated a little as he hurried down the stairs. The pushcart had fallen over; it was empty. The disciple had likely taken the bundle out instead of dragging the cart down the stairs. Had the contact been enough? Had he removed the sheets to see what was so damn heavy? Link breathed hard as he slithered down into the crypt. Dust trickled from the ceiling, and torches lighted the way.

Link had no eye for the rusty artifacts piled behind iron bars in cells along the corridor, the chests filled with scrolls and books with harmless leather covers. The crypt could collapse, but if Ghirahim had attacked the Temple, then it was indeed Link's fault because he had brought him here, favoring personal matters over this urgent matter. All because he had been an idiot, too familiar with the fear to lose his freedom, so he had delayed taking someone else's, killing people in the process…

He skidded to a halt and almost tripped. There was another explosion in the Temple, a tremor traveling through the walling.

The bundle was here.

The servant had left the gate open, and Link squeezed through, scrambling into the cell and to the dusty ground to rip away the covers. He made a choking sound at the back of his throat when his bruised fingers touched cold metal. Stunned, he freed the heavy sword until the last blankets fell away.

_It's about time, master._

In the blink of an eye, the blade melted into Ghirahim, who shook the covers away from him and patted dust off his cloak before he got to his feet. His voice was practical and calm. "We might have overstayed our welcome at this sacred site. March."

"It wasn't you," Link mumbled in disbelief. If Ghirahim couldn't even remove covers from his blade or turn back on his own, he wouldn't have risked letting the crypt crash down on him… It made no sense. Who else would dare to attack the Temple?

More dust trickled down, and Link snapped out of his thoughts. It wasn't important. If Ghirahim wasn't part of the problem, he could be part of the solution.

Link almost fell when he stepped back and hit another open gate; the clattering was awful. He couldn't even remember any other open cells, and the bars were strangely twisted…

A hand gripped his shoulder and shoved him on, just the very second when he heard a low growl.

Link was experienced with wild animals, he could easily tell the growling of dogs, wolves and smaller carnivores. But this was unlike anything he had ever heard. The message, though, was clear – it was a growl of battle.

Link had not even located the animal when his first instinct was flight. A predator chose its life over hunt, and with the crypt crumbling dangerously, it would forget his intention. However, the courtyard was probably still full of people, wounded and bloody, an easy prey.

His soul for a weapon. A _lifeless _weapon.

"Something's here," Link hissed. "It must not reach the courtyard!"

Ghirahim paused, a smirk curled the corners of his mouth. "I do feel like shedding blood," he snarled, stretching his fingers. Link warily glanced up at the ceiling. "Just be care-"

Ghirahim rammed his elbow into his chest, crashing him against the twisted bars as red missiles shot from his hands, striking into something solid with a sick crunching.

It was a wolf, but unlike any Link had ever seen as he gasped for breath. It was big und scrubby, with muscular jaws and two rows of yellow teeth that could crack bones. The snout was short and the nose was reduced to two long slits, the legs rather lateral to the body than under it. The fur was brown and compact, the paws comparatively small, tools of a swift runner. Its colorless eyes regarded them with cruel intelligence.

The blow had hit the creature, but it recovered frighteningly quickly, apparently unhurt. If anything, it was all the more vigilant as it shifted its weight and scented the air.

Ghirahim grunted and regarded the wolf grimly. He didn't seem to be scared, but he didn't take his eyes off the beast either when Link took a careful step. His ribs hurt from what Ghirahim probably viewed as a protective measure. "Can you stop it?"

"Unlikely." Ghirahim had not repeated his attack, but Link could read his readiness to lash out as soon as there was a slight opening. "Wolf-slayers can't be tamed. I have not seen them in a while… How unusual to deploy one here."

Link had no particular desire to find out what Ghirahim called 'a while' or where he thought it fit to position a monster like this. It was impossible that the wolf-slayer had been here all this time, beneath the Temple… How could it be that nobody had known?!

The short exchange of blows had landed the wolf-slayer between them and the way back, leaving little option when they had no time. Link risked a glance at Ghirahim. "Can you kill it?"

Ghirahim bared his fangs in a gruesome smile.

"No."

Link suddenly felt like snapping at him when the demon added all unhurried: "This isn't a living creature. Someone summoned it, either as a guardian… or a trap. It must be severed."

Severed – a strange word to use for killing. Link's eyes wandered back to the motionless wolf, its small cocked ears, the short tail, the rippling muscles. It was breathing, moving, and yet it had a stillness that made Ghirahim's words believable. It could not be killed, but he wouldn't fool himself.

"Then sever it."

Ghirahim threw his head back in triumph, his deep roar of pugnacity sounded at the same time the wolf-slayer lunged forward and crashed against him. The sheer force should have thrown Ghirahim to the ground, and even though he was jarred, he did the ridiculous something – he remained on his feet, his hands buried in dark fur to hold the snapping jaws away.

For a split second, demon and wolf remained as if to wrestle. Then a red glow began to seep from Ghirahim's front leg, crystallizing on his knee to form a deadly sharp spike. The moment he would ram it into the creature, he would also lose his stand; Link looked around for a weapon, but the strange trinkets in the cells were dusty and mostly decorative – if Ghirahim's magic hadn't hurt this monster, a moldy vase wouldn't do it either.

The wolf-slayer growled deep in its throat and suddenly broke free. It clamped its large jaws around Ghirahim's arm, digging yellow teeth into the flesh with a grinding crunch. It was a low sound that was barely audible in the moaning foundations of the crypt, but Link heard it absurdly loud. His stomach lurched, and still, Ghirahim's agonized cry never came.

The demon thrust his knee up and buried the spike into the vulnerable belly of the beast that still kept his jaws locked around his arm. The red blade swished through the fur and dug out a grisly clot. He was unbelievably fast; before he had lowered his leg, the wolf-slayer crumbled to grime before their eyes.

Ghirahim crushed the clot under his heel with a single, swift kick. "Ridiculous little plaything."

"It's still attached." Link was amazed he could even piece those words together, as if he had not seen the wolf bite into unprotected flesh just now. He was also rather amazed that he could worry about missing bleeding with dust from the ceiling powdering his head.

Ghirahim scoffed and grabbed his shoulder with decidedly deft fingers. "I was not molded from clay, master. You will find my arms a thoroughly… _ample_ protection."

Link hoped the short pause had been for breath and not for drama as they dashed through the crypt and up the stairs. By the time they reached the courtyard, Link had forgotten all about hiding.

The Temple was completely ablaze, flames licked from every window and spewed black smoke into the blue sky. The air was stiflingly hot and made Link's eyes water; the statue of Hylia in the fountain had shattered into pieces at the heat, the basin was dry. Extinguishing the fire was impossible from here, the danger great that it would flash over onto other buildings.

Link had never loved this place the way Zelda did, and yet he felt her numb horror now: the Temple could not fall. Not like a powerless, ramshackly hovel.

"A-abomination!"

Link whirled around when Ghirahim's grip on his shoulder suddenly disappeared. The courtyard had been empty until a young adept had run through the gates with buckets of water in his hands, which he dropped at the sight of Ghirahim. The sword spirit eyed him darkly.

"Your pathetic choice of weapons offends me more than your words. You'll be pleased to soak this fire with your blood, then." Red knives slipped between his fingers within the blink of an eye, pointing at the trembling boy. Link hissed and rammed his elbow into Ghirahim's wrist – he had hoped to slap them from his grip, but at least he couldn't aim any longer.

"Don't! He's harmless!" Link spat out the last word as smoke crept into his throat and made him cough violently. Luckily, the boy turned and fled from the courtyard. An excellent idea, for what that was worth.

Although the Temple was mainly built of stone, the fire was out of control; something else must be burning. Link wiped his eyes and glanced up. "Can't you put this out?"

He only saw a bleary vision of Ghirahim through the tears, but he heard him snort and felt him grip his arm again.

"_You_ are the savior of _my_ race. Never get this reversed, master." Ghirahim's breath was a tiny draft of coolness, and still, the chill in the pit of Link's stomach was biting. He could almost taste the slow dread together with the smoke on his tongue as they ran through the gate and from the crumbling Temple. Link had no idea where they were turning, he just knew that as soon as he could see straight again, he had to help with the fire before it flashed over-

Ghirahim stumbled and hissed deep in his throat, coming to a halt. The bolt of a crossbow had ripped a hole into his cloak, another one splintered in his palm instead of piercing flesh and bone. It wore the white paint of the Temple Guard.

"You feculent vermin won't be graced with a quick death…"

Ghirahim dropped the bolt and turned towards the men recharging their crossbows. There were four guards, all of them geared up for battle, and a templar in full armor. Link didn't recognize him; it was a grown knight of Hylian breed, equipped with holy sword and shield and mounted on a large brown horse that had similar plating. The sight was, in its own way, more frightening than the wolf-slayer.

The sword gleamed in the luminous glare of fire and sun as it was drawn and pointed at Ghirahim with deadly finality. By now, the crossbows were ready again, the line of guards composed and closed.

"It is you who won't live to sow the fruit of chaos and magic, abomination!" The templar's voice was tinny through the visor of his helmet, but booming and without fear. For a moment, Link wondered why he had never been able to summon such zeal, such-

The horse reared in panic as red shards of diamond clashed against its armor and knocked the templar out of the saddle. He kept hold of his sword and rolled to his feet, fast, but not fast enough before Ghirahim was over him like a blurry shadow. The thin blade in his hand was horribly fast as well, slipping between the plates of armor over the armpit with expert precision. Blood gushed out as it pierced the vein that could bleed a man to death within minutes.

Ghirahim straightened and kicked the sword out of the templar's weakening grasp. The red blade in his hand was still dripping as he turned towards the guards.

He was going to kill them, and they were as powerless as their leader. Link realized it with a rare clarity, just like he knew that if Zelda could not believe him, no one would.

The templar's horse was bred for battle, but it was guideless and panic-fueled, barely avoiding kicking its rider. Link rushed forward and caught the reins, dragging the massive head down with his own weight. The horse rolled its dark eyes until they were almost white, and yet when he pressed his hand to the unprotected underside of its neck. Link reached for the saddlebow.

Crossbows fired again and the horse bolted.

If he hadn't jumped up, the sharp buckler of the chestplate would have rammed into him; Link clawed his fingers into the frame of the armor, ignoring the pain as the horse dashed forward and tried to shake him off. Blood slicked his fingers and threatened to throw him under the hooves, but Link managed to throw his leg over the saddle, clenching his teeth as his muscles seemed to tear. Nevertheless, he held on, dragging himself onto the back of the templar's horse and reining in hard enough to bring the trembling animal to a halt. Until he had gained control, they had distanced themselves from the fray. Link caught sight of two more men down and Ghirahim's barred expression. A cruel white god among death.

Link kicked the horse into a storming gallop, right back into the combat.

Its hooves thundered on the cobblestones, but nobody seemed to hear. Praying that he would not regret trusting his instincts, Link directed the horse with the pressure of his legs and straight at Ghirahim, who looked up just now.

Their eyes locked for the fraction of a second. There was no fear, no pain of betrayal, not even incredulity. Nothing except for a deep certainty that Ghirahim always possessed.

The horse dashed past him, and Link bent to the side, pressed his feet into the stirrups and grabbed the sword demon, locking his arms around his torso and pulling with all his might.

For a painful moment, he was sure that the ridiculous move was going to dislocate his shoulders and rip him out of the saddle. The sudden lurch seemed to snap him in half, and his muscles instantly burned.

Then, with one swift jerk, he felt the weight of Ghirahim's body and threw it over the saddlebow. Ghirahim coughed as the force knocked the air from his lungs and the armored withers dug into his stomach.

Link ducked over his sprawled body and behind the neck of the horse, then he lashed the reins. Bolts still whizzed through the air, and the fire howled like a living thing as the templar horse ran blindly. As he pressed his cheek against the cold metal of an armorplate, blood lingered on his hands, and he could feel Ghirahim gasping for breath beneath him, smell the fire in the air. He was sweating, and the burning in his eyes was more than salt.

When they passed the open gates of the city, Link knew he wasn't going to die now. But he was sure he was dead.

/

_A/N: So much more I would have wanted to squeeze into this chapter, but it would have taken even more time – I'll just try to be fast about the next one, since I have special motivation…_

_Thank you for both your patience and your feedback. Even if I do fall for other fandoms, I never let this one go._


	5. Praying

**Chapter four: Praying**

Link reined in – or rather, his hands yanked at the leather that his fingers couldn't let go of. The horse beneath him grunted and jerked its head up, pasty foam dripping from its mouth. Beneath the heavy armor, the flanks were dark with sweat and shaking. It probably would have bucked if it had still had the energy, but now it just trudged to a halt.

Link felt numb and stiff all over. He wasn't used to riding, and his muscles had tensed when he had clung to the animal for a period of time he couldn't even guess. It was still daytime, but the large trees of Faron denied a more accurate estimation. And right now, Link couldn't even care. As the reins slipped from his taut fingers, his gaze found the creature that had so efficiently ruined his life within less than an hour.

As if on cue, Ghirahim stirred. Since he had been thrown over the saddlebow like a sack of potatoes (though he had deserved something less respectful), he had stayed limb, and in one of his few erratic thoughts, Link had assumed he had been unconscious. If so, he hadn't had the benevolence to simply fall off.

Ghirahim carefully heaved his upper body up; if his slow movements were anything to go by, at least he was in pain. There was a dark bruise on his skin where the steel-reinforced saddlebow had dug into his stomach, which would have made any other person with a spark of decency vomit. Though so far, he hadn't expressed an interest in any food besides… blood.

Ghirahim straightened his spine with a series of sickening little creaks and turned his head in Link's direction. The young man instantly backed away and dismounted – when his numb legs suddenly gave out and sent him tumbling the rest of the way down.

Hylia's holy Hofteholder, with a good part of his life lost, did his dignity have to be next?!

Ghirahim paid no attention to the panting horse beneath him and flexed his neck to fix a hardening, then he slipped from the saddle with far more grace than Link had displayed. Bashfully grateful for the stirrup, the young man pulled himself up by said construction and gritted his teeth as his hamstrings throbbed with pain. Up until now, he hadn't known just how tight he had clung to the saddle. The least of his problems, though. Link straightened and hoped his legs didn't tremble under him as he faced Ghirahim, who plucked a brown hair from his coat.

"Quite the dramatic getaway, master," he said nonchalantly.

Whatever Link had expected him to say, this wasn't it. And it wasn't what he had _wanted_ to expect.

"How could you-… kill them?! How could you be a beast?!"

Instead of insults, Link heard his own voice, a bleak rasp. He coughed and spit out, wiped his mouth. His fingers were trembling and smelled and tasted of smoke, blood and sweat. It closed up his throat.

"Did I give you any reason to believe otherwise?" Ghirahim's voice was terribly calm, even a faint bit forbearing. "I am positive I never did."

Link bent over, trying hard to swallow back the bile rising. One hand still clutched the stirrup, the other grabbed his knee. A part of him clinically observed that this reaction was merely physical, induced by stress, an empty stomach, smoke inhalation and exhaustion. But what resulted was the feeling of powerlessness.

"You could have fled." He couldn't seem to cough out the word 'we'.

"Naturally." Ghirahim's voice contorted in Link's ears as he swallowed dryly again, carrying on like a heavy melody. "But they initiated battle, and you could have gotten hurt. I cannot take such risks."

"My ass!" Nausea retreated kindly to make room for flashing anger as Link straightened and spit again, this time in scorn. "You didn't protect me or anyone else! You wanted your damn carnage, don't even dare to tell such a barefaced lie!"

"There is a preacher in you after all." Ghirahim smiled thinly, but he had hesitated just a second too long to appear unfazed. At least one thing had struck home, and Link didn't care for love or money what exactly it had been. He remembered Zelda's tormented expression when flames had burst from the Temple. The picture hadn't left his mind ever since this morning.

"They feared you, and you… Why weren't you simply struck by lightning?!" It was not so much meant as an insult as simply as a sign of desperation. Hylia hadn't protected her templar when blood had sprayed from beneath his armor, she hadn't raised a divine magic against Ghirahim's foul magic. Why?

_Because if anyone could have stopped him once and for all, it would have been you._

He hadn't had a weapon.

_Since when has killing been confined by a lack of blades?_

He hadn't been able to do it, neither then nor on the way.

_Not like you tried hard._

Cool silk brushed the back of his neck, whispering over the clammy skin. Like touching the hackles of a spooked animal to calm it. Link slashed at it as if a poisonous serpent had fallen onto his shoulder, but Ghirahim pressed his hand down into the curve of the neck, his fingers curled around the muscle and made it prickle uneasily.

"I am made from the very substance of Pandemonium, forged from a magic older than the faint beginnings of your puny goddess. Did you think I would dissolve before her like fog in the sun?"

Link froze, his dirty fingers still wrapped around Ghirahim's wrist to pry it off. Despite the horror he had seen the creature commit today, his first impulse was shame.

"You knew." His hold didn't loosen, but he stopped for a moment, eyeing the sword spirit with stunned incomprehension. "Why didn't you resist?"

Ghirahim returned his gaze with a strange, cryptic fineness. He didn't answer immediately, nor did he wait for long before he mused: "I go where you go. I don't fear any god… Least of all those who dread magic." He leaned closer, and his grip on Link's shoulder became softer in the same way his brown eyes gleamed with an emotion Link couldn't immediately place.

"Fate gifted me with a master capable of malignance and deceit. I am quite _very _thrilled."

There was no irony to be found – that emotion was actual pride.

"I'm going to be sick", Link stepped away, letting Ghirahim's hand slip from his shoulder. Thankfully, his muscles obeyed, even though he could feel them cramp again.

"Honesty as well, I think I might faint", Ghirahim drawled, apparently back to his unpleasant self-assurance. Link turned towards the horse and carefully reached for the reins; the animal flinched, but was too tired to resist. The thick foam around its muzzle was crusting over, and he dimly remembered that it needed to be rubbed dry to avoid colic. With all that idiotic, useless armor attached that hadn't done its rider any good…

"We have to go back now."

"Not recommendable – or indeed very foolish." Ghirahim folded his arms and ran his index finger along the straight bridge of his nose, as if to trace his train of thought.

"I didn't ask you. We are going." Link began to fumble with the latches of the armor plates. The leather was drenched with sweat, and it didn't help any that his fingers were still stiff and shaky. However, any activity was better than the thoughts waiting for him.

"I won't obey an order this absurd. Though I'd be curious how you plan on surviving being spiked with arrows, I rather fear you will fail."

"I can get in." Climbing the city wall wasn't any harder than a tree if you knew your way around. And had a good rope.

"Assuming you could, who'd listen?"

From the corner of his eye, Link could see Ghirahim cock his head as if this plan made any more sense from another angle. "Then again, it would probably end in a public execution to draw and quarter you properly. In case humans are still capable of this, yet I am afraid I cannot let that happen."

"Haven't you had enough bloodshed?" The disgust in Link's voice heavily mixed with weariness, but a chill ran down his spine as he heard Ghirahim chuckle quietly.

"I never do."

Link clenched the stubborn latch between his fingers and gritted his teeth, suppressing the uneasy feeling with anger. "Keep your vile perversion-"

"I won't hear any of those farcical rants or fractious drivel. If you won't be silent, I _will_ silence you in your best interest." Ghirahim hadn't raised his voice, nor had his expression changed remarkably. As he eyed Link with dire impatience, the horse got nervous, prancing on shaky legs as if it sensed the change of atmosphere. Link instinctively moved closer to it, unsure whether he was trying to block the way or recoil from Ghirahim.

The demon gave the lobe of his own pointed ear a satisfied tug – he seemed to incidentally touch his body quite often.

"If you return anywhere close to this miserable pile of hovels, you will be the prime center of an execution, even if you can make anyone believe you didn't set the fire. They know already… in case human stupidity hasn't evolved even further since I last saw your race." He dusted another short brown hair from his coat to bestow Link with an almost fond smile. "Either way, you were a henchman, and no one wants to know whether you wanted this."

When his rump suddenly hit the soft grass, Link told himself he had sat down on purpose, even when he wasn't actually sure of it. The cycle of his thoughts grew shorter as his nerves wore thin. He carefully ran his hands along his temples as if his skull might crack like an eggshell if he wasn't gentle.

"I appreciate a well-planned attack when I see one, even though there were certainly a few flaws to be found… However, any distraction of that sheep-eyed brat was sufficient. It happened to be you."

Ghirahim hunkered down beside Link with an eerie lack of sound, but his closeness was meaningless as Link tried to grasp the momentousness of this reasoning. Executing a supposed accomplice would allow the templars to calm the people and organize the manhunt. How long would they need? With one of their own likely dead now, not long. Maybe only a day.

"Holy Heavens," he groaned and buried his fingers in his tangled hair. "Just… Why?"

"A legitimate question. Destroying that temple could have been achieved easier than setting stone on fire from at least three different sources."

Link's hands crept over his ears to press down and muffle Ghirahim's morbid pondering. "Leave me alone," he growled, but the demon paid no attention.

"It was meant to be crushed efficiently, with a fire so wild and uncontrollable that it would be contained rather than put out. It had to create chaos to buy time for an escape and burn all evidence. And then play it safe with a fearless creature none of those armored wimps could have dealt with." Ghirahim paused to breathe out an amused sigh. "I do like such systematic destruction."

It was more tempting than ever to let all of those words trickle through his mind without care, at least until he'd had time to collect himself. But Link knew what would happen once he decided to push it all away, and for all the mediocrity of his life, he had never tried to crawl under the rug.

Even if it meant facing the person he wanted to see the least now. Link lifted his head and regarded Ghirahim with renewed intentness. "There's no gain. Everything of value is kept in the sanctuary."

"So I've noticed." Ghirahim's icy note was definitely a piece of ruffled ego for being dumped in the crypt among moldy junk.

Link paused to rub his temples in slow circles. The monster had been in the crypt, maybe without any intention of fleeing since it didn't live at all, and it had left no traces when Ghirahim had killed it. He remembered the twisted bars of the cell, now likely melted to deformed chunks of metal, together with the scrolls and artifacts. Against his own strong unwillingness, Link tried to relive the moment when the first explosion had cut off his words. It hadn't happened immediately after he had _distracted_ Zelda (something inside of him still cringed at the word), and everything had been at peace until then. It had been… a high window, somewhere in the private chambers of the Spirit Maidens. And then more fire in strategic points. Assuming that Ghirahim really was blameless, this was impossible to achieve without one of the many servants noticing. Unless there were-

"Bomblings."

Ghirahim didn't seem to sense the inkling in Link's voice; he interrupted the inspection of his stainless gloves long enough to give a dismissive sigh. The fangs behind his lips were white and slightly curved to the inside.

"Escapism, little master?"

"It wasn't magic at all – the detonation was timed. If I find out who did this, and why…" He looked up into the canopy of leaves and got to his feet, his weariness lifting. "We're leaving." This time, his fingers worked a lot quicker on the latches, and he stacked the heavy pieces of armor next to him. It would be better to bury them somewhere, as they were useless ballast, and the horse would need its strength. Link had thought of letting it run, but it would turn back to the city and leave a trail to follow.

"Would you kindly explain this blather?"

Ghirahim's trenchant voice sliced through his busy considerations, betraying obvious resentment – and confusion. Link didn't know where the spirit had lost track, only that he had to be puzzled enough to give up the semblance of superiority.

Well, it certainly wasn't beneath him to feel a little smug.

"You don't know Bomblings." It was more of a statement than a question. After slumbering in the ruins for so long, it was well possible that Ghirahim had simply missed bits of evolution.

More well-deserved smugness.

"That remains to be seen." Ghirahim crossed his arms, an allegory of indignation. The bruise where the saddlebow had dug into his skin was already fading, Link noticed.

He let the topic rest to avoid arguing over pride now; there were more important things to do now, even when his mind still buzzed with questions. With growing numbness, Link realized that time was precious. He, _they _were on the run, although Ghirahim didn't seem to see the gravity: if he faced soldiers again, he would also fight them again and kill everyone who couldn't escape his blade. Link had seen what he was capable of, and he knew he had to avoid getting caught, not only for his own sake, but for innocent lives. Ghirahim was as merciless as a tool, he was just not equally controllable.

_In this regard, that rivals the pitiful excuse of 'Her Grace wants it', don't you think?_

Link wasn't awfully fond of the voice of sarcasm in his mind. There were far too much of them lately.

As the armor was removed, Link carefully ran his hand over the horse's flank. It eyed him distrustfully, at least it seemed to think him the lesser evil. A few handfuls of moss would be enough to rub it dry; thankfully, the large trees shielded away the sun, so there was a thick blanket of moss covering the roots everywhere in the woods. Link gathered a bit, then noticed Ghirahim watching him with dwindling patience. The sight summoned a short surge of averseness. There wasn't a single blood stain on the white silk, even when he had let it flow so freely…

"Bury that."

He jerked his thumb at the stack of armor and turned back to the horse. He didn't expect Ghirahim to obey, so it didn't come as a surprise to hear him hiss. No sound of anger, rather of sinking lenience, like he was dealing with a petulant child.

"I may have told you I'm not a gardening tool. I won't scuff in dirt."

Link pressed his lips together and crushed crumbly moss in his hand. "It needs to be done, and I don't trust you with the horse. Do it."

"It's easier if I kill it. Mangle it like the prey of a bear, and it might even make for a good explanation for your disappearance." As long as Ghirahim followed his own cruel (and, sadly, not even unfounded) logic, he wouldn't be persuaded. And frankly, Link had little desire to beg for it.

"You use your magic to cut down men like hay-"

"You have a lovely way with words," Ghirahim chuckled, he actually seemed genuinely amused. He looked distressingly human when he tilted his head back to laugh.

"- then you can just as well churn up some earth. You broke my dagger, therefore, I can't use it," Link snapped, going on before the thought could sink deeper. At least his resolution had the desired effect. Ghirahim didn't seem to mind his metaphors anymore.

"I was gifted with magic to conquer the enemies of my race and pave the way for a new era, not to dig over a paltry forest!" His brown eyes glinted dangerously. Link returned his gaze with a calm born from exhaustion and bitterness – and defiance. He took a step towards Ghirahim and slowly dropped the moss from his hand.

"Then I will find a way to turn you back into that ridiculous sword, and _I _will dig a hole with you as my shovel, and when I tire, with my bare hands. And it will be you I bury as deep as I can. I won't wait to see whether you can crawl out of your own grave, or if you simply waste away."

For that one overpowered moment, Link knew he could do it. The horror of this day was still fresh enough, the sureness firm that Hylia wouldn't blame him. He would, but that would be later.

Ghirahim stared at him. His ashy skin was no bit paler than usual, and there were no signs of fear, even for someone as watchful as Link. He didn't move, his arms loosely crossed in front of his chest, his head cocked slightly so that the hair fell away from his unblinking eyes and exposed his pointy ear.

Link felt the garnet near the palm of his hand, the assurance that he had the power he would need. If Ghirahim hadn't been wrong about the activation in a situation of threat, it would be easy. They both knew. The air was tight because none of them breathed.

Ghirahim bowed into a fluent scrape that didn't speak of anguish or tension. And yet, there was no mockery, just the strange elegance of doubtlessness. His cape swung softly like a curtain.

"At your command, honored one."

He walked past to gather the plates without visible effort or disgust for the sweat and hair on it, then he strode away from the high trees with their strong roots. Link stared after him, voiceless even when he had wanted this to happen. Ghirahim would only respect and obey someone with steely hardness, and if that was what it took…

'_Fate gifted me with a master capable of malignance and deceit.'_

Shuddering, Link turned back to the horse.

/

Link had expected more protest when he announced that they needed to find a stream in order to cover their tracks, but there was none. Either Ghirahim accepted the reality that the Temple would send anything after them, even tracker dogs, or he obeyed for whatever reason.

Oddly, it made Link feel guilty – he had always despised the way every bit of life was pervaded with hierarchy, and had tried to avoid it at the cost of his comfort. It made him a bit of a maverick, but at least he didn't take anyone's independence. He wondered whether Ghirahim really agreed to let someone else decide for him.

"So." Link led the horse through the copse, careful that it didn't snap of any twigs that would mark their way. "Do you… eat? Food, I mean."

Ghirahim followed him through the thick forest, the white of his clothes and hair sawed at Link's nerves. He had the feeling the color could be spotted for miles, even when the dash had supposedly led them deep into the Lost Woods where they wouldn't likely encounter anyone.

"If I recover from physical wounds."

Link remembered how the huge jaws of the wolf-slayer had tried to bite off Ghirahim's arm. There hadn't even been torn fabric, so what on earth should be able to injure him?

"So you don't have a metabolism." His voice still seemed to waver, as if the threat he had spoken made it useless to talk about something so trivial. If Ghirahim noticed, he didn't seem to care.

"It would be rather tedious if your survival on the battlefield was dependent on the marginal fact whether you've kept your weapon fed. My artificiality is my strength."

"But you have a heart." Link halted to correct himself; right now, he could not accept that Ghirahim could have that kind of heart. "A heartbeat, I mean. You live."

"I am born from magic. I exist."

For the first time since they had moved on, Ghirahim shot him that dismissive smile again, and Link briefly wondered whether he was acting.

"You stay this way until someone… kills you, then." Apparently, the spirit didn't age.

"I'm beginning to find it slightly unflattering that my passing fascinates you so, master," Ghirahim remarked derisively. "My live ends when my blade breaks. Counting that you can't even wield me, I'm not worried."

Nice to hear that he had regained his overblown attitude. Link admonished himself for getting inattentive; the Lost Woods weren't a playground, and they hadn't found any water yet. His mouth was dry, and the horse beside him sniffed wistfully. He had hoped that the animal's instinct would lead the way, unfortunately, that either wasn't the case or it was still too scared. And the sunlight that could filter through the leaves was starting to fade. At best, they were wasting precious time. At worst, they had turned into the wrong direction.

"Wait here."

Link stopped and looped the reins around a low branch. The tree belonging to it was a giant, twines as thick as his arm crawled over the bark. It would make climbing easier, though there could be hideouts for all kinds of poisonous insects or snakes. If he was honest with himself, he ached with weariness, and the thought of clambering up this huge thing and search for a sign of water before getting back to the ground in one piece was incredibly unappealing. He didn't even have a rope to secure himself, so he would need to concentrate hard.

It suddenly dejected him so much that he thought he was going to burst out into tears.

_Surviving the day just to bawl at the sight of a tree? Appropriately heroic, I'd say._

Of course, Ghirahim was not empathetic towards his crestfallen face. "I am waiting," he announced pointedly.

"Good boy. Get me a rope, and you can have a pat on the head." Which didn't sound half as patronizing since Link was an annoying bit shorter than Ghirahim. He decided he didn't have enough energy for clever comebacks.

As if.

"I won't function as a toolkit a second time."

Link glared at the sword spirit and barely swallowed a scathing remark about earlier. "Do you have a better idea how to get up there?"

Ghirahim raised an elegant white brow so the violet beneath his eye seemed to stretch, giving his eyes an almost innocent roundness. "I do."

Link barely felt the hands on his shoulders before everything dissolved into a swirl of red.

/

Bark beneath his feet. A fresh gust of wind. The smell of smoke and resin. More red.

Link blinked and suddenly became aware that he was standing on a branch above the sea of treetops, the ground so far away that his heart lurched up his throat.

"Holy-…!," he croaked and clung to the nearest solid object. The branch he stood on seemed horribly thin and bent slightly under his weight, the soles of his boots could slip easily on it. The undamped forces of wind pulled at him.

Link wasn't usually scared of heights. But when he climbed, there was a rope around his waist, and his mind had prepared for the challenge. He had never before simply _appeared_ anywhere, let alone anywhere unstable.

"Never fear… You will not fall, master."

Ghirahim's voice created a soft rumble close to Link's ear, and he realized that he was trembling. Magic… On him. It had swept him off the ground with the force of an ocean's wave, softly, but terrifying in the power that lurked there.

His soul was tainted now – though that didn't scare him half as much as the unsteady branch and the endless distance of the ground, the shaking that the magic had cast over his body. Sweat beaded at his forehead as he pressed it against red cloth and tried to find his equilibrium. Or the presence of wind to lower himself and hold onto the wood.

What did people usually do to overcome panic? Oh, yes. Pray.

_Dear Hylia, I'm sorry I didn't save your temple, or at least help with the firefighting. It would have been hard to do with an arrow through my eye. I'm not looking for excuses, mind you. If you're still mad at me, Ghirahim is punishment enough, and if you really want to condemn my soul, at least don't let me end as a puddle of ooze, thank you. Faithfully-… No, sorry for that._

The branch still creaked, and his muscles hadn't stopped trembling. Maybe his heart was lighter now, but his body didn't forgive him the use of magic that easily. Link was not feeling very prayerful.

_And fuck you too, Your Grace._

"As much as the relationship between master and sword is affected by closeness, I suggest you take a look around now."

Link forced his eyes open and took a strangled breath. His own knuckles had turned white, wrinkling the heavy brocade of Ghirahim's coat. The demon had his back towards the trunk without leaning against it; he didn't seem to fear a fall, even when the wind tore at him just as much. It played with his hair, wafting it around and exposing a round, humanoid ear. A strange feature for someone who was supposed to be an artificial creature. Link couldn't hold onto the thought now. His legs felt numb, as if he couldn't trust them, and he thought he felt a pulse of magic where Ghirahim still held him by his shoulders.

As long as he faced the demon and with him the direction they'd come from, he couldn't search the area. Link swallowed in vain as he realized he had to turn around.

Slowly, he loosened his grip on the coat and averted his gaze from the gaping height. "What… was that?" His voice was barely a whisper that the wind ripped from his lips. As he felt for the branch with his toes, Link was surprised Ghirahim heard him.

"I teleported." From the lack of a smirk, Link guessed Ghirahim hadn't thought of the possible side-effects for someone unfamiliar with magic.

_Dear Hylia, I take it back. If you strike him with lightning-… No, forget it._

Link managed a nod. His arms had finally extended to the sides, giving a bit of balance. "Don't… let go now."

He began to turn on his soles, very slowly, carefully, blood pounding in his ears. He must look ridiculous. He was going to fall like a ripe apple at the next gust of wind.

But Ghirahim circled his arms around his waist, just loose enough to allow movement and tight enough to let him know he couldn't bend to the side. For the first time, Link was incredibly thankful for the brutal strength of those arms.

The half-turn seemed to take forever, and then he finally faced the gently rocking treetops and the setting sun. He had never seen a sunset from this high up, without anything blocking his sight. For a moment, the mass of liquid red and gold stole his breath. In that brief moment, there was no fear or excitement, just the pleasant feeling of being a tiny part of something intangible. It was wondrous to feel the anchor of Ghirahim's arms and the steady heartbeat and for once not smell the fire of the burning Temple any longer.

And over there was a small opening in the trees, their foliage was slightly darker, more intense. Link felt himself smiling, his hand reaching back intuitively to nudge Ghirahim, this once, it wasn't so bad-

A gust of wind almost made him lose his balance and the demon pulled him upright again as Link let out a disgraceful yelp.

"Down, _now_!"

Again, that horrible wake – Link was glad he didn't have air to scream.

/

Link swore his knees were still wobbly when they finally reached the stream. Ghirahim had not been the least bit conscience-stricken about using magic on him, whether it hurt his salvation or just his circulation.

They could have avoided running the gauntlet, but Ghirahim refused to teleport the horse, declaring that he was no 'cattle-conveyance'. And Link had in turn refused to kill it or leave it. Perhaps one of his reasons was obstinacy; however, he wouldn't let Ghirahim come out on top.

It had come to his mind to check his body for any signs that the magic had harmed him. Magic wasn't forbidden for no reason, and obviously, he wasn't meant for this. The second teleportation had almost made him sick, and he had needed a long second to collect himself and wrench Ghirahim's arms away. Since then, the tension was back.

Teleportation. That explained how Ghirahim had even gotten into his room. There seemed to be limits for his range and ability, but Link didn't want to inquire, neither did he want to ask for help.

It was almost dark now, and travelling by night was too dangerous in these woods. Link didn't like to admit it, even when he was glad to rest for today. He was too worn to even feel hungry, and the rank undergrowth made it easy to hide.

Starting a fire alone would take time, and Ghirahim's magic was out of the question – Link had had it with fire for one day. He sighed deeply when he settled into the fern.

"You really don't sleep," he mumbled as Ghirahim combed his hair with his fingers, though it didn't look tangled. Maybe it was a gesture of boredom.

"No."

"Then you keep watch." If Link had to decide between sleep and his mistrust against the demon, he chose sleep. And the hope that he wasn't making a mistake now.

"Very well, master." Ghirahim cocked his head, but it was too dark to see his face. "Won't you be cold?", he purred and opened the clasp of his coat.

He had a heartbeat, yet no metabolism. He needed energy, yet he didn't eat or sleep. He breathed and he was warm, and the explanation was always magic. It was too much too believe.

"Keep it." Link's reply was surprisingly gruff as he lied down and drew his knees up. The fern was moist, and somewhere close by, he heard the horse chewing something. "Otherwise, you're pale enough to be seen from miles away."

He wasn't sure whether he heard Ghirahim chuckle or that was simply the murmur of water. His mind was drifting.

_Dear Hylia… I'm fine if it doesn't rain tonight, that'll be all. Well… for now._

/

_A/N: Yes, I dearly love Dragon Age, but there is no intended crossover as 'templar' is the usual term for armed soldiers serving a religious cause. In this universe, magic is said to not exist any longer._

… _Though I'd certainly like an affinity between Link and Anders. I'll begin seeing reviews as dangerous fanservice._


	6. Bargaining

_He was dreaming – dreams never made sense, but both their marvel and dreadfulness lied in the fact that you never knew when you were dreaming. He knew._

'_You have no musician's hands, shard.'_

_That was right, he had no musician's hands. He had no hands at all, his wrists ended in smooth chunks of something glassy. They felt natural. 'Well, yes, I don't.' His own voice came from his chest instead of his mouth. 'Are those hooves?'_

'_Whatever you want them to be. They could be lumbering bells. They should make sound. Or seam the sun.'_

'_Do they split when they touch maples, I wonder?'_

'_Silly you, shards don't split. When they are small enough, and you are so awfully small, shard.'_

'_I used to be. And then I thought I could fly, and the rain took the wrong direction.' It all seemed perfectly sensible as he twisted his wrists. They were more flexible than ever._

'_Then maybe your shard still isn't small enough.'_

'_I am the shard, I thought?'_

'_Whoever told you such nonsense, shard?'_

/

Link yelped and instinctively coiled up as pain flashed through his leg. His hand groped for his boot-dagger, and he remembered that it wasn't there, it had been broken. His eyes blinked against the twilight surrounding him and tiny fingers touching his face and ears…

"You blasted demon-bastard, _what_?"

There were no fingers, it was only fern. And the pain in his shin was the effect of a mean kick against said bone, caused by said demon, who was towering over him. Link blinked; the sky was turning from grey into a steely blue, and the darkness had not yet retreated completely.

Ghirahim regarded him with the usual lack of contrition. "You were giggling in your sleep," he pointed out. "I saw fit to wake you."

The answer left Link dumbfounded for a moment, making him sit in the flattened fern and gingerly rubbing his shin. The kick hadn't been as hard as the initial shock had made him believe, but it still hurt and was likely to leave a nasty bruise. Though as soon as Link sat up and suppressed a wince, he knew that more surprises of this kind awaited him under his clothes.

Giggling in his sleep? Hardly. He couldn't even remember his dream, only that it hadn't been a vision of his inevitable condemnation, just rather… queer. And he didn't dwell on it – as his senses awoke, Link concluded that he was hungry, thirsty, his muscles ached and were so stiff he wasn't sure he could get up gracefully, and his hair was a felted mess (probably only representing the general condition of his body). It was enough to put anyone in a _subdued_ mood.

"You saw fit to kick me." Link cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes, grimacing as the thin scabs on his hands stung worse than ever. "Can we… arrange that you don't do that again?"

Mornings weren't his favorite time of the day, and he preferred to simply sleep until they were over. It began to dawn on him that if he was to spend more time with Ghirahim, he needed to summon his anger much quicker, even in the morning.

Unsurprisingly, Ghirahim wasn't impressed by his feeblish reproach. Maybe all demon-swords kicked their masters awake, and if that was the case, Link was even gladder that he was _not_ a master.

"I have been thinking while you had your hours of tremendous fun. We ought to move."

Link scratched his ear and plucked a dead leaf from his hair, looking up. He knew he should be alarmed by Ghirahim's sudden determination, but in his current condition and still half-caught in sleep, all he managed was a dull: "Ah?"

Eloquence was an invention of people with too much free time.

Ghirahim pursed his lips and exhaled quietly through his nose. As the rays of sun grew a bit stronger, Link noticed the tiny drops of dew glistening on pale skin and hair, which now resembled cobwebs more than ever: thin, tidy and silvery, with the undeniable notion that there was more to them.

Link had always thought that dew made everything mysterious and beautiful. Not Ghirahim. Dew sprinkled on him made him seem… earthly.

"I will tell you… as soon as you've washed. You are incredibly _filthy_, master."

Even though his arrogance was still somewhere above the clouds, apparently.

"I'm a human, not a violet. Did you brood over this all night?", Link grumbled as he struggled to his feet and patted earth off his tunic. Not that it did much good, he had to admit, but obviously it was a hindrance for Ghirahim. As if he needed a certain degree of cleanliness to share his prim thoughts.

"I will ignore your pathetic attempt on sarcasm." Ghirahim ran his fingers along his pointed ear, as if he had just remembered the slight moistness of dew. Despite a night in the woods, he was pristine white, no stains of blood, no grime. The smell of fire still clung to Link like a nightmare refusing to fade. Yes, he needed to wash. Not to humor Ghirahim, but because he couldn't get the Temple out of his head if the smell was on him.

Ghirahim followed him with a natural implicitness towards the stream, as if to make sure Link wasn't tricking him. Or, what seemed more likely, to simply watch.

Link had visited public bathhouses plenty of times before, and being naked in front of strangers was a given. However, it was different with magical creatures who had displayed an unmistakable interest in his very body before. As he eyed the stream and realized that it would reach to his knees at absolute maximum, Link decided that he needed to test out his new authority.

"Look after the horse, will you?"

Ghirahim didn't seem to notice the slightly forced casualness in Link's voice, nor did he slow his step to fall back. "Are you asking me to kill it?" Judging by the undertone of annoyance, Ghirahim considered this overdue.

"Wha-… No, you will _not_ hurt it." Link stopped to pierce the sword spirit with a fierceness that came unexpected for even himself. "Understood?"

No living being should be killed for no reason, and yet, Link wondered about the vehement urge of protection he felt. He had never owned a horse, as they were much too costly; and especially a warhorse of this breed was probably worth a small fortune. It didn't trust him, and he had no need for it now, it was actually more of a burden. And nevertheless, Link couldn't think of harming it.

Perhaps some part of him that was indeed escapist thought that he could make up to the animal what had been done to the rider.

"The moment it endangers you, it is dead." The finality in Ghirahim's voice left no room for discussion, but it was unusual enough for him to refrain from challenging Link's demand. For now, it had to suffice.

Which brought him back to the problem: getting rid of a man who would protect him from ankle-deep water and sharp pebbles, maybe even a frog. Link would have sent him for something like breakfast instead, but since he was the only one with such banal nutrition, it would mean depending on someone. Coping with life in the wilderness had always been one of his few strong points.

But what was worse – the more he gave Ghirahim orders that the creature would obey, the less right he had to reject the role of a master. It required… substantial further discussion.

Link had now reached the brookside. The water was clear and the current fast, no sign for any kind of venomous animal or any danger greater than slipping on the soft earth. Even though the Lost Woods could be treacherous and Link had avoided going too deep, he would be perfectly fine by himself.

"We could have pursuers," he suggested as he took off his boots.

"If your brethren are not afflicted with intense asininity, they will come in more impressive numbers. They will not be fast." Ghirahim didn't seem to worry – considering the gruesome short work he'd made of well-trained guards, he was probably right, the Temple would summon stronger forces. Link gritted his teeth as he fumbled with the laces of his tunic, but didn't open them. "Are you proud, demon?"

Ghirahim flashed him a short moment of pearly white and sharp teeth. "Why would victory over that picture of misery give me pride, master?"

Link stamped his foot, regretting that the bare sole could only produce a low slapping sound on the moist earth. He could imagine it wasn't intimidating, but he would not let this thing dominate him to the point of fear. "I am not your master! You've killed people, and you will atone for that, until then call me by my name and _don't watch me bathe_."

Ghirahim smiled. It was no tight smile, and still it contained anger, a red, subtle anger: like touching your palm in search for the source of a stinging pain and finding a tiny thorn driven into your skin. So deep you couldn't pull it out with the tips of your fingers, so small it didn't draw blood.

For a small moment, Link could guess the echo of Ghirahim's long life.

"My loyalty shall always humbly lay at your feet what you demand from me and refuse to grant from yourself." Ghirahim's voice held an endless silkiness that was no bit tender. With a graceful bow of his head, he disappeared in a short flash of magic.

Link exhaled deeply. He couldn't quite tell what had caused that sudden change of moods – perhaps Ghirahim thought him ungrateful, or it was a reminder that they were entirely incompatible. The demon hadn't indulged in one of his tempers, and that would be enough for now.

Link stripped off his clothes and carefully stepped into the stream to kneel down. The water was icy, and tiny fish flitted around his tunic as he drenched it and tried his best to scrub both cloth and skin. Judging by the dark smears that the current quickly swept away as he dunked his head under, he must have looked rather… ragged.

Link had to clamp his jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering. The sun was not even completely up, and the stream came from the depths of the forest, so it wasn't long before the cold made him shiver. On his knees, naked and chilled, Link felt exposed to the eyes of the Goddess more than ever. Maybe she was laughing, but she hadn't done anything to show him the way.

Link sighed and splashed more water over his back. The smears of grime had faded, letting him know the true promise of his bruises and scratches, most of them he didn't even remember. A new bruise was already blooming where Ghirahim had 'woken' him this morning, as the bone was hardly protected by any soft parts. If he squinted hard, the bruise looked slightly like a sword.

And no, that did not count as an omen. He probably had bruises shaped like watering pots, rolling pins and tortoises as well.

The cold water had cleaned his hands and left them red and trembling. Link inspected them, and suddenly it seemed strange that his eyes were the only thing dry about him. Despite everything, he hadn't cried, even when he recalled how Zelda had stumbled away from him, when crossbows had fired at him, no tears came. Maybe it was no good. Maybe he should cry, just to see whether it made anything easier. Smoothing his wet hair, Link lifted his chin and stared into the sun, trying not to blink. It made tears gather in his eyes and bright spots dance over his retina, if only he could sob…

"Are you quite done, or are you waiting for that shabby piece of livestock to scrub your back?"

Link yelped, the cold forgotten for a moment as he hurriedly covered the parts he had tried so hard to keep from those prying brown eyes – though judging by the amusement and the covetous hum in Ghirahim's voice, it hadn't been quick enough. The spirit regarded him from the height of a large, moss-decked rock, his legs modestly crossed and his chin resting on one palm. In any distinguished tearoom, he would have been the definition of astute and polite attention.

Except that conversional partners usually weren't naked there.

"What… do you think you're doing?!"

It didn't sound as curt as he would have liked, even as Link told himself that this squeak at the beginning had just been his imagination.

Ghirahim smirked down at him; maybe his anger had retreated for the sublime goal of pissing Link olf and flustering him all the same. "Do go on. I have waited years and years for you… I can bear a few more minutes." The gaze directed at any parts of bare skin was hard to misunderstand. Link hoped his blush was mostly indignation and not embarrassment.

"I told you not to do this," he snapped and tried inching towards the shore without exposing more of himself than he already had.

"I decided that leaving you out of my sight was an unforgivable breach of duty. And I may be so bold to note that you don't _bathe_, master. You sit. Most scenic."

At this point, Link gave up bearing this man with dignity and threw a pebble at him – which Ghirahim caught with loathsome ease. "An impetuous temper is a good trait in a… leader." Something about the way he pronounced the last word made Link doubt they were thinking about the same thing.

_Dear Hylia, I am still patiently awaiting the meaning of this trial. Or a globe lightning._

His tunic was drenched anyway as Link had tried to clean it the best he could. He snatched it from the grass and wrung it out again, it would dry fast enough on his body. Luckily, the material was too thick to be see-through, and he had never been so glad for it.

"You are indecent."

Ghirahim had probably heard worse insults, and he didn't seem to mind Link's icy anger. Again, there was that look of patience that he had seen before already.

"You have yet to understand that I am your weapon. No barriers can exist between us."

Link let the tunic sink into his lap until it drenched again, ignoring it as he reached for another pebble. "Quiet."

The expression of augustness was like a strange glow in Ghirahim's voice as he spoke, disobeying. "You and I do not belong to ourselves. We belong to a calling that does not deserve, but demands sacrifices."

Closing his fingers around the stone, Link ripped it from the streambed and threw. It crashed against the mossy rock with a harsh click, this time missing Ghirahim by at least an arm's length. The creature didn't even flinch, and the pebble rolled down into the grass with a feeble rustle.

Ghirahim raised a quizzical eyebrow.

The bluish oval twitched with a low hiss, almost as if it shook its head when recovering from the hit. The moment Ghirahim caught sight of the plant that had begun to spread its thorny leaves like groping fingers, he sliced the tooth-armed head off and immediately got to his feet. Although his mien remained composed, he threw a telling glance around.

Link grunted and pulled his tunic over his head. "Mini Babas. They rise at dawn and gather warmth until their reflexes become faster. Some of them have venom." Pushing his wet hair from his eyes, he cast Ghirahim a brusque glare.

"I don't need a sword right now, and like hell do I need a ball and chain."

/

_Dear Hylia, now would be a splendid time to lead the way. Preferably before I discover that I bit off more than I can chew._

By now, Link was losing hope that the Goddess was even listening. He frowned as he took another bite from the bizarrely-green fruit that he had picked for breakfast. The pulp was gooey and had a sweetish-hot aftertaste, but its fluids had wondrous effects on a man's energy and stimulated the healing of torn muscle fibers. Their extract was popular, even though Link couldn't get used to the suspicious smell of mildewed strawberries.

As he swallowed the last of his sparse meal, he snuck a glance at the horse grazing idly. It seemed to have recovered from the exertion as well, but whenever he came closer, it flattened its ears and backed away, even trying to bite him if he didn't snatch the reins fast enough. Not to mention letting him mount again – it hadn't been openly aggressive, however, he could not risk being trampled down by a horse trained to crash a skull with its hooves. All tries of bribing it with fruits had been equally… fruitless.

At this point, Link knew he kept it for the sole purpose of defying Ghirahim.

"You want to be home, don't you?"

Large brown eyes regarded him warily, as if even his voice was alarming. Link sighed and scratched at a scab at his wrist. The garnet in his sleeve felt smooth and warm, almost pleasant. "I'm sorry. Your stable probably doesn't even exist anymore. Still, if there was a way to bring you back…" The moment he said it, he flinched and spun around to the direction he had last seen Ghirahim. Much to his surprise, there had been no burst of outrage at the stream; even when Link had to admit that his remark had been somewhat unfair. But with things as they were, he had little desire for _fairness_.

"Demon?"

The horse suddenly reared as Ghirahim appeared in a short, blinding flash, and he bared his teeth at it. His eyes were as brown as the horse's, but no bit more human. The unmistakable air of threat did nothing to calm the beast, its nostrils widened as it blew out a warning snort.

Maybe the horse despised Link, and obviously it _hated_ Ghirahim and was rewarded with intensity. Once again slipping between them, Link looked up at the sword spirit with sudden poignancy.

"You can teleport us back, right? Back to Ordon!"

He should have thought of this sooner – even if it meant allowing magic, and that damage was already done. Forgetting his reticence for this second, Link took hold of the gloved hands and gave them a keen squeeze, hope rising in his chest. "You have magic," he added with unwavering trust in those strange powers. They could bring them back without telltale traces and allow escape.

The expected wave of boasting failed to appear as Ghirahim returned Link's fierce gaze with something that was sheer astonishment.

"No."

Link just stared in disbelief. He had unthinkingly held onto Ghirahim's white hands and felt them twitch ever so softly; like he had meant to clench his fists.

"Do you… need my blood, then?" Link felt ill just offering this, but it had to be. If they could return to the city within the blink of an eye, then there was no danger. He could talk to Zelda, explain everything. Help them. Find whoever had set the fire. He could be useful.

His efforts seemed to displease Ghirahim in some form, and yet the demon didn't pull his hands out of Link's grasp. Something was going on behind his eyes, though they stayed dark and smooth; his thoughts remained a mystery.

"What you ask of me is not a teleportation, a shifting within close distance. You demand a translocation. It is indeed an exertive spell, and I will not include that lumpen pony anywhere." Link almost imagined a fleeting hint of misery as Ghirahim appraised him sharply, lordly.

"You have no idea what you ask, foolish, blinkered master that you are. On the paths of the Silent Realm, I could lose you." He withdrew his hands. His grim expression suggested that there was something, and for the first time, Link couldn't summon his ever-present bitterness towards Ghirahim. He was far from feeling pity, his confusion mingling with anxiety.

"So it's possible." Biting his lip, Link watched any kind of reaction. "You said that thing in the crypt was made from magic as well. I'm enough of a ranger to know that everything leaves spoors."

"The Silent Realm is no flower meadow where you play tracking." The edge in Ghirahim's voice was icy, which was unlike him. Rejecting an idea that Link couldn't carry out on his own should amuse him, provoke taunt for his inferiority. There was something Ghirahim kept from him, the second time this morning.

_You could order him to tell, you know. Not like you can afford to scoff at exhausting a privilege. Some recently killed men would approve._

Link squashed the thoughts, but something remained – the fact that it was indeed idiotic to show consideration. If he had been honest early enough with Zelda, this could have been prevented.

"I can look out for myself, and I think I proved it." _You are good at making a show of beating a tiny little plant. That requires a statue, and since the Temple's grounds are empty anyway…_

Nevertheless, Link's thoughts sped like quicksilver. Assuming that he could make it back to the city without any equipment, he would need days to guarantee a minimum of safety, and he could no longer take the horse. By then, the bounty on his head was probably impressive enough to remind people who he was – if Zelda hadn't already told everything she knew. The suspicion etched something jagged into his heart, but she had every reason to believe that he was guilty. And she had to serve justice for the dead.

If anything, now was his chance. And Ghirahim was his only tool.

_And it's what he wants to be, remember? Just think what else all that power could achieve._

These thoughts originated from the darkest months of his life, when Zelda had left him for the Temple. When he had hopelessly wished for something that could absolve her from her destination as a Spirit Maiden. Link had eventually locked them out, and yet they began to creep back now that he had experienced magic. He was despaired enough to consider it.

But it would come with a price. Running away would not.

Swallowing hoarsely, Link met the labyrinth of refusal on Ghirahim's eyes. "I need to find whoever did this, and it means going to Ordon and coming back here. If you help me, then… tell me what you expect me to do for your people, and I will do what I can."

The moment he spoke, Link realized the immensity of his words. And their horrible finality.

Ghirahim watched him with a cryptic expression that could revert into anything from rage to amusement or even frustration, and it was none of those yet. His fists had loosened, and his fingers flexed slowly, rhythmically. With the morning sun gleaming in his silvery hair, he was more living magic than ever, even if his gaze never strayed. Link doubted anyone had ever spent so much time and such intensity looking at him.

"You try to bargain over fate?"

Everything and nothing could be read from his voice; amazement, disport, anger, bitterness or disgust. Though Link was sure of one thing: incredulity.

"Consider it an arrangement."

_Well done, you've sold your soul for magic. Consoling to know the priests were right._

Ghirahim's merciless apprehension didn't falter, regardless of whatever the demon might feel. Link was sure that if he detected any weakness or a sign of dishonesty, he would not hesitate to avenge this disrespect and deal with the consequences later. As long as Link refused to be his master, he didn't seem to quite so… strict.

Ghirahim closed his eyes, letting his eyelashes melt into the deep violet beneath. No wrinkles indicated deep thinking, he almost seemed to listen, as if his differently-shaped ears could hear the sounds of two worlds…

Although his eyes remained shut, Ghirahim's hand shot out and grabbed Link's wrist with ominous precision. His grip was hard, but bearable, and Link knew better than to struggle as the demon lifted his hand. As his eyes opened, he observed everything, the skin, the rails of bone, the faint blue arteries and the beating pulse within them, even the scratches and remains of juice. Link was fully aware that the sharp teeth behind those white lips could rip his artery open with ease, and his breath quickened as Ghirahim lifted his wrist a bit more until it was a distance of few inches between his mouth and the flesh. Link could feel the even breath prickling on his skin.

If he wanted this bargain, then his blood was part of it. And still, Link had never felt so horribly at the mercy of someone.

"Just… do it already." He was surprised to sound as palsied as he felt.

Ghirahim met his eyes. Then he tilted his head slightly and whispered a kiss onto his wrist, so faint that it could have been a brush of warm air. Link saw his own fingers tremble and realized the grip on his hand was soft.

"We shall prepare, master."

Letting go of Link's hand, Ghirahim simply turned to leave. Link was glad, for he felt like his legs possibly wouldn't hold him.

/

He had expected something – a pentagram, a magic potion, artifacts or at least intonations, anything. And he got none of those, which probably made magic an easy thing to practice.

It was not exactly comforting.

With the horse tied to a sturdy branch and an area that seemed relatively save, Link had the feeling that this made him very nervous. And even more so because he was apparently not the only one having second thoughts. Not that Ghirahim voiced those, of course, but Link didn't find his concentrated quietness as calming as he had imagined. Wiping his hands on his pants, he tried his best to look determined as he checked their environment for any signs of a bigger, more dangerous animal. Again.

"Don't speak, don't make any noise. Do not consume anything the Silent Realm offers you – it will bind you to that place. Stay behind me or you will regret it. Vanquish your fears. And _do what I say and when I say._"

Ghirahim's voice allowed no careful doubts, even when Link knew he would be an idiot not to have fear. If he had been cold-blooded enough to remain unfazed until now, then Ghirahim's caution would have broken his calm. So far, the demon had acted as if there was nothing he couldn't easily kill, and he insisted on making the rules.

Which he had been doing anyway since he had gotten out of his wretched tomb.

"What happens if I get lost?" Link tried his best to sound neutral. "Do I die?"

"Your body does. On the spot or disintegrated into bits and pieces or thrown into any deadly corner of your world. Or all of those." Ghirahim looked over his shoulder, almost thoughtful. He had been there for the past ten minutes, and Link hadn't interrupted him, although he didn't seem to do anything. If the risk worried him, he was remarkably even about it; but then again, his determination never left any room for anxiety. Link couldn't think of it as admirable – he rather suspected that the creature still had not grasped the definition of a _normal, non-magical and very mortal being_.

"Then why did you agree?"

Link wasn't sure why he needed to know, it just felt like he should make this attempt before trusting a vague idea with his life. Ghirahim had so far not been compliable towards his wishes, and in his demonic ways, he had preserved Link's life. Why put it on the line for a bargain?

"Because you are human." Ghirahim turned towards him, a poised smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "There is a reason why a human was chosen to fulfill fate, and fate demands this risk of me."

As he knelt in front of Link, the serene surety was back. Whatever gods Ghirahim believed in, he trusted them a lot more than Link could trust Hylia.

The tension made him feel sick. Link tried to breathe slowly as he laid his hands over Ghirahim's outstretched ones, their palms resting together. He couldn't decide whether to close his eyes or leave them open, and he couldn't even deny that he was _scared_. More scared than he had ever been before in his life.

"What's your risk?", he rasped as he felt the gentle stillness of Ghirahim's hands beginning to mix with a slow hum. Link recognized the sensation; he had felt it before when his blood had smeared onto the bangle, and then again the moment Ghirahim transformed. His words were a poor try of distraction and by now, he had screwed his eyes shut.

"My life, honored one. The Silent Realm… only accepts demons."

Link immediately opened his mouth to react – but magic engulfed him and whirled him around.

/

It was nothing like the teleportation. It was worse.

Link felt like a sparrow in a cyclone, desperately flapping its wings and trying to reach save ground while the wind tossed it around. The stream of magic was cruel and strong as the tide, burrowing him, ripping him up, crashing him into things that weren't there, even his body wasn't there. Panic hit him like a hammer, all his senses reeled. He wanted to scream, but he didn't know whether he had vocal cords for long enough.

It was all magic, and which of it belonged to Ghirahim, he could not tell. The magic was a dark miasma that dragged him deeper without drowning him, letting him sink forever.

And then he fell from the skies.

The Lost Woods were beneath him, a sea of luminous greenish blue – everything, everything was somehow blue, the skies, the woods, even Link's body. It was eerily quiet, and there were seemingly miles of free fall.

Link gasped, even when his body felt strange and without substance. A free fall from this height would make a quick death, and he had nothing to save himself, where was Ghirahim when he would have needed that son of a Bokoblin…

_Welcome, shard._

The gust of wind felt weak, but it gripped Link like a leaf and carried him, blowing him over the trees and sending him tumbling into the grass. No broken bones, just the feeling that he would have thrown up if his body hadn't been so disoriented.

Groaning quietly, he scrambled to his feet and scanned the area for Ghirahim. As he caught sight of white silk, he shot the creature an accusing glare that Ghirahim didn't catch. He didn't seem to have noticed Link coming over to him yet, as he was leaning heavily onto his arms with his legs folded beneath him. He panted and repeatedly shook his head, much like someone trying to hold onto consciousness when breathing very thin air.

"Are you alright?" Link held out his hand to help him up and was rewarded with a threatening gaze. "I told you not to speak!", Ghirahim hissed as he stood up, ignoring the offered hand. Link saw him sway for a second, then he regained control and combed a strand of hair behind his pointed ear. "They hear you. When you see them, run."

The fluorescent blue glow had embraced Ghirahim as well, engulfing him like white frost. He was beautiful.

Link was quiet as the sword spirit lead the way and he followed closely. They ran through woods that seemed lifeless, their silence was so deep that it swallowed every noise. No grass or leaves rustled when they dashed past. Sometimes Link saw a faint light from the corners of his eyes, and it was always the moment Ghirahim grabbed his arm and ran even faster, almost making him stumble. Link thought he ought to spit out his lungs sometime, and even as he panted harder, his body didn't tire yet. The Silent Realm did not respect the laws he knew. Nor did it stick to those distances, as if it merely imitated reality to suggest a false security.

And then there was Ordon.

The city was as empty as the woods. Link recognized the structures, a perfect copy of the place he had lived in for so long, but something was different. Sometimes the corners seemed to tremble, shift only a little, and when he looked closer, they were just the same. Maybe the Silent Realm was like this, or maybe this city would crumble without the magic that Ghirahim had injected. Link couldn't ask him. And perhaps it was good to know nothing for now.

He had no idea what traces of magic looked like. Would they even be visible to him? Even if he could have asked Ghirahim, Link doubted he could expect much help; the other man was entirely focused on watching their surroundings. He had fallen back a little to let Link lead, and his face betrayed caution. If he was happy to see this homely place of magic, he excelled at concealing it.

Link gasped and stopped, even grabbing a brick wall to break his own run. His boots crunched on the rough cobbles as he wiped his eyes.

The Temple towered majestically before them, pristine and untouched as before.

This wasn't possible! If the Silent Realm copied the world he knew, why had it omitted the destruction of the Temple? Link stared in disbelief at the fountain where Zelda and he had sat before the explosions had begun. Clear, sparkling water streamed from the statue of Hylia without a sound.

He hesitated merely a second before he marched over to the gates – or tried. Ghirahim yanked him back with a sudden violence and clamped a hand over Link's mouth. His free hand spun thin red threads of deadly magic.

Link didn't struggle as he was pressed back against the other: he felt the pounding of a heart against his back, the fierce beat of fear. He took a forced-slow breath and gently tugged at the glove to ease his lungs, but Ghirahim didn't concede. His muscles were hard and tense.

It was silent again, although it was there.

The figure was as tall as Link, and yet he had to look up. It was floating as a shadowless silhouette, and as it slowly came closer, Link was glad Ghirahim hadn't removed his hand.

It was a thin, empty cloak with a mask, gliding through the street with the creeping steadiness of a guardian. Link instinctively realized that this was the danger they had been trying to avoid, and now it was close.

This time, Ghirahim let him push down the restricting hand. With a wariness that was just as soundless as the guardian, the spirit moved in front of Link, the magic between his fingers whizzing, but not attacking. Obviously he took his stance as a shield, even when the guardian was unarmed.

It was not, Link realized. He couldn't see the threat, he simply sensed it. He watched anxiously as he tried to breathe quietly. The guardian glided closer into their general direction. Ghirahim bent his knees slightly, gathering the strength of his legs.

It could not hear them. It could not, unless its hearing abilities were overwhelming; and if so, they should have been heard much sooner. Link stared into the empty mask that approached them without haste, and he felt sweat form on his skin.

Why wasn't it turning away? They had their backs towards a brick wall, and if the guardian meant to pass them, it was getting too close.

Something was terribly wrong.

It was so near that Link could see the stitches of the cloak's seaming and the smooth shine of the mask. Ghirahim hadn't moved again, but a vein on his throat beat quickly. For an odd moment, Link wondered whether he cursed his master for being unable to wield him. And yet, he hadn't faltered to stand between the guardian and Link. If only there was a way of knowing-

Holy Heavens. The guardian didn't hear them – it _smelled_ them!

Link grabbed Ghirahim by his coat and wrenched him back a split second before claws as long as his ell sliced the air where his head had been. Out of nowhere, absurdly arm-shaped talons stretched from beneath the cloak and slashed blindly. Ghirahim barely dodged the attack before his magic faded like thin smoke.

Suddenly, the sky was sickening pink, and an unearthly screaming erupted. Link didn't allow himself to shake, nor could he fight. Grabbing Ghirahim's arm, he felt the vain hum of magic.

"Run!"

They ran for the Temple.

/

_A/N: I seem to have a liking for bath scenes... And kink. Kink's to follow. I've been spending time in all the right fandoms for that._

_Thank you for your support! I much appreciate your theories, though I can't comment on those without quite see-through._


	7. Diving

**Chapter six: Diving**

_Dear Hylia, I take everything back. Magic is diabolic._

Link knew it was more luck than skill that kept his head on his shoulders when he rolled over his shoulder and scrambled to his feet, the eyeless mask of the guardian so close that he could see the tiny cracks in the fictile surface. The droning in his ears almost drowned any other noise; it felt like a swarm of bees in his head, and he sensed that it was a call to other guardians.

Ghirahim's shield of candent magic shattered like clay under a single hit of a scythe, and he stumbled backwards, pressing a hand to his head. Whatever Link heard in that ghostly screaming, the sword spirit obviously felt it even graver.

Worse yet, his magic failed him.

Either the guardians were immune to it, or Ghirahim's powers were reduced in the Silent Realm. As Link glanced at his face, he realized that Ghirahim himself didn't know the reason; he fought despite himself.

The guardian that had spotted them attacked with something akin to patience, as if it sensed that it was merely a question of short time until the intruder could not parry anymore. Even as it slashed at Ghirahim, its mask turned towards Link, the round holes giving off the impression of a dull gawk.

Another guardian floated over, taking up the ghostly scream. Although it could have easily attacked Ghirahim's back, it immediately chose Link, its coat wafting in movement. If he had to make a guess, it seemed like the guardian took in smells with that cloth, it needed motion to sense them.

He ducked just in time to escape a claw swipe – if only Ghirahim would stop his useless fighting, not like Link could escape the Silent Realm without him anyway…

More vigorous attacks forced him to retreat, putting more space between him and Ghirahim. Link knew he was inevitably getting closer to the Temple, but at the same time, more guardians drew near, and it was merely a matter of time until he was cornered. He had to break Ghirahim out of his stupor, even when he had no idea where it came from.

The ground seemed to vibrate with the steps of the guardians, even if they never touched it. Link glanced down and realized that he was trembling: not the uncontrollable shaking of fear, although he felt that fear clog up his lungs. The trembling was heavy and weighed down his limbs.

The guardians didn't need a refined technique to catch him – sooner or later, he would be too slow.

Another one, with his mask scarred and cracked. More claws. Link saw his own reflection in the deadly steel, and for a heartbeat, his face seemed twisted, torn…

"_S-sssave me already!"_

His voice was a chocked hiss, half drowned by something in that never-ending scream of the Silent Realm – Link thought it sounded like a shrill laugh. His vision performed a dangerous reeling, and all reason left his mind.

/

The next thing Link sensed was an impossibly smooth floor in his back and weight on his chest. Everything was solid, he was still breathing, and bless Hylia, that was all he wanted right now.

His body was numb, as if every muscle had fallen asleep – and when he twitched, those muscles began to wake up, sending an unpleasant prickling through every fiber.

Magic again. Blasted invention of people overextended with everyday life.

Link waited for his body to crawl back to serviceability while his brain moved equally sluggish. He remembered the feeling of having a few angry bees in his head, and these screeching sounds. He didn't hear them now. Nice. He was pleasantly sleepy and blinked a few times as the weight on his chest shifted and lessened. Nice as well. Link closed his eyes for a long moment and only opened them an inch afterwards. The ceiling was bright and high, only marred by two dots of brown. Ah, no, those were eyes, mixed with violet and silvery hair. Ghirahim – he supposed that was nice, too. He looked smaller without his cloak, and the way he brushed hair from his face reminded Link of a cat grooming its fur.

"'Tis pretty." His words slurred, and he didn't know why he had spoken. It felt necessary to express this. "Your ear."

It was round and small, unlike Link's own and unlike any he'd ever seen. Almost shaped like an apricot and usually hidden behind hair. The lobe was slightly frayed, as if something had been ripped from the flesh and healed badly. Link thought it was cute, nonetheless or maybe actually because of that.

He imagined a glimpse of something unguarded before Ghirahim scowled and backhanded him. Hard.

"You might know we have no time for chit-chat – get up already, they're sure to find us soon. By the depths, one could assume you'd gradually get used to magic…"

Link's mind cleared abruptly as pain stung in his cheek and brought his memory along. The guardians, the copy of Ordon, the screaming. Both the sound and the ghosts were gone, but no feeling of safety crept in. Link sat up and rubbed his cheek, glancing around. It was a gallery of marble, cool and polished with Ghirahim's voice echoing dully. He didn't recognize this place.

"Where are we?"

Ghirahim crossed his arms where his white clothing left a rhombic gap. The patch of skin was usually covered by the coat – now that he had taken it off, Link noticed that there were quite a few gaps one would want… dressed. Despite the fact that Ghirahim wasn't easily destructed, was this already considered _clothing_? It looked like a suit where someone had punched out a horizontal strap and then makeshift sewed the remaining fabric back together. It looked rather… provocative.

"I don't know." Ghirahim seemed oblivious to Link's incredulous stare. "Not far from the guardians, I suppose. Just far enough for them to lose the track… for now."

Link ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the coat spread over his lower body like a blanket. It felt heavy and warm, the inscrutable symbols embroidered on it seemed more like a harmless decoration. As he moved to push it off (tucking him in as if he was a sick child, what had gone wrong if a demon treated him like this?!), Ghirahim knelt down to stop him. From this close, he seemed tense, his sharp cheekbones more prominent than usual. Link suspected he was growing weary; not at rapid speed, but the Silent Realm took its toll, magic slowly oozing out.

'_The Silent Realm… only accepts demons.'_

"It will help to cover your smell. They sense mortality. Your blood sings to them."

A hoarse trace made Link shiver. Did Ghirahim really refer to the guardians with his last statement? Perhaps not entirely.

And that was not even all.

"You thought they could hear us." The edge of anger flashed in his voice. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"The guardians react to sound. They don't strike for no reason." Though Ghirahim seemed just as irked by his misjudgment, Link supposed he sought refuge in attack. It was to be expected from someone like him, but for Link, it only spurred his indignation. "Obviously _not_. Is there anything else you're considering surefire?"

Ghirahim ignored his sarcasm, even though his silvery eyebrows created a tiny wrinkle. "Stay away from the Waking Water. It calls the guardians."

"Tenuous water?" Link didn't try to cover the scoff. "Even if you are right – which I doubt – what the hell prevented you from warning me _before_ we were running the gauntlet?!"

Ghirahim's brown eyes glinted warningly. "It was not my place to tell."

Link felt his lips peel from his teeth as he leaned forward, rage surging through him like heat. "Don't fuck with me! You do this on purpose – you let me run into open knives because you know that every time I need your help, you can force me a little more into your bloody master-role. After all, you're indestructible! You don't need to give a shit!"

"Do I need to remind you that this was your brilliant idea?" Ghirahim's glimpse of weariness had faded in favor of simmering aggression. The mere thought of him being a servant would be hilarious, if he hadn't been so dangerous in his decisions. "I would have never brought you here if you hadn't insisted."

"No." Link pushed to his feet. Thankfully, his body had overcome the aftereffects of magic, and he gained a firm stand. "You gain something from it."

It was no question, and Ghirahim didn't deny it. The fact that he didn't stand up the second Link did was as close to a confession as it would get since he allowed a human to tower above him. Link had thought that if he didn't expect anything from the spirit, he could not be disappointed, but still there was a nasty little sting in the back of his skull.

_Yes, Your Grace, I knew you told me so._

"The natural order of the Silent Realm was abolished. The moment we entered, I sensed it. I just… could not believe anyone could secure such great changes."

The tiny hesitation and the fact that Ghirahim knelt instead of facing him on eye-level told Link it was an apology – crumpled, twisted and tacit about all the other accusations. Admitting that he had been wrong was far from saying that he was sorry, but it reminded Link on the look of disbelieving stiffness.

He sighed and snatched the discarded coat off the ground to throw it over his shoulders. The smell of resin mixed with a whiff of incense, a scent that seemed to belong neither to the Silent Realm nor to the fabric.

"I think I know where we are." The coat felt heavy and vexed Link with the panels of cloth hanging from it instead of a straight seam; still, he was somewhat relieved when Ghirahim fluently got up and agreed silently to the unspoken announcement to discuss everything else later. Link wondered whether the spirit had expected something different. Kneeling seemed like… a servant waiting for a blow at his face.

"This is a part of the Temple, if I had to make a guess, we're somewhere near the chambers of the Spirit Maidens." His own voice calmed Link as he mapped out his thoughts. Ghirahim put his hands to his hips where he wore a broad yellow belt with a massive clasp encrusted with reddish amber. Obviously, he had swallowed a snide remark about the décor.

"I've never been here." Just like the vast majority of all the male inhabitants of Hyrule. Link raised his eyebrows. "Why did you choose this place?"

"I didn't." Ghirahim ran his tongue along his lower lip, this time distracting Link on purpose since there was another blunder to be discovered. "I can only teleport to places I have been before. Unfortunately and due to the changes, my magic has been acting slightly _volatile._"

Link did not wish to know what exactly 'volatile' meant in this context. Instead, he chose to be glad they hadn't been thrown into a cesspit or else.

If he remembered correctly, the fire had broken out somewhere here, so this mistake had saved them a bit of way. Link was even willing to think it was the Goddess' work to interfere with Ghirahim's magic, as long as that didn't mean they couldn't leave unscathed. Still, it felt almost indecent to walk here…

"Does the Silent Realm adapt to reality?", he asked Ghirahim as they proceeded carefully down the corridor. He couldn't get used to the fact that the Temple existed – or might crumble under their feet as the Silent Realm caught up to the present.

"I daresay it is the other way round." Ghirahim gave him a sparkish smirk. "Aside from certain places that are considered sacred and therefore remain unaffected, this world is the same as yours. The Silent Realm is no sanctuary of your petty goddess, so this temple should be destroyed."

"Someone preserved it?" Things like strawberries and onions got preserved, not… temples. Or it was his nerves getting the better of him.

"Apparently."

"The guardians don't care?" Link for his part would mind it if someone manipulated the world he patrolled so steadily under his feet.

"They do." Ghirahim passed a door that was carved into a stunning imitation of a tree's furrowed bark without so much as a glance. "Which means they underwent a change as well. Nobody is powerful enough to accomplish that without help."

"Nobody practices magic anymore." Link thought of the Sheikah; they had withdrawn from the temples before his birth, and their powers were heavily doubted by now. Though this could well all be strategy, they hadn't fought those rumors and secluded themselves. By now, their descendants seemed to have lost great parts of their culture.

"For once, I didn't speak of active help. A special artifact is required to conquer the Silent Realm."

"You do remember that the crypt was full of artifacts that were somehow _special_, right?", Link retorted dryly – and halted.

Ghirahim returned his gaze with an annoying expression of _Told you so_. "Do tell, master."

"That means nothing," he shot back. "That place was full of trash and trinkets!"

"Ah, really?"

Link drew a sharp breath as Ghirahim's arm suddenly lashed out and flung him against the wall so hard that he stumbled, feeling the cool marble in his back and a throbbing in his right shoulder even though the cloak had cushioned the bounce. For all his staginess – Ghirahim was a brute to the core.

Which would be less pesky if he wasn't so damn fast.

"You refer to me as 'trash'?" Ghirahim's long fingers barred his throat, not pressing at his windpipe yet, but almost gently brushing his larynx as a quiet order to stay exactly where he was. Link swallowed and immediately tensed as his body reacted with nauseating alarm. He had never been so desperate for a weapon until this creature had invaded his life.

As he stared into Ghirahim's eyes, he had the odd feeling that this constant challenging would not stop. Ghirahim was a warrior, and what mattered to him was whether someone was stronger or weaker than him. Link wouldn't do him the favor of handing over the reins.

"If anything in the crypt had been dangerous, they wouldn't have stored it so carelessly", he croaked and tried to push Ghirahim's hand from his throat. The demon spirit caught his arm and pressed Link's palm against his chest where his clothing diverged. His skin bore the unmistakable hardness of muscle beneath it, and his heart beat strong and fast. Link was taken aback so discover that Ghirahim had neither nipples nor a navel; obviously a sign of his artificial creation. Only that he didn't feel artificial, and Link was startled at the vivid echo of his own body. Lewd curiosity was the least recommendable emotion now and every time concerning this… thing.

"It has come to my attention that the fiercer humans ban something from their minds, the more they forget…" Ghirahim purred and ran his index finger along the fluttering vein on Link's throat. "You, who is my wisdom and my striving, would swear that your, well, _conspecifics _weren't simply unable to recognize something capable of magic?"

Link fought to keep breathing through his nose and failed, opening his mouth slightly. The coat was much too warm, causing him to sweat even when he was dully aware that any kind of smell was dangerous with the guardians around. Or it wasn't the coat at fault.

He knew Ghirahim had a point; though Zelda had briefly seen Ghirahim, she hadn't given any indication of alarm and she hadn't bothered to examine the bundle. She was young, so maybe she lacked experience, and they hadn't seen each other for months, so Link supposed she had indeed been distracted…

But Spirit Maidens were representatives of the Goddess, the holy chosen who heard her will. They could not lose their special sense because of _distraction_.

Ghirahim acknowledged Link's silence with a smooth smile and leaned in, brushing his lips against the soft skin beneath his right eye near his cheekbone. Brown pools now were so close that Link could distinguish the different shades and tiny specks of dark and light color, like the grain of old wood.

The last time Ghirahim had come so close, it had summoned a surge of panic and turned him into his sword form. It hadn't happened yet, not even while facing the guardians. Perhaps the Silent Realm blocked the transformation. To be honest, it sounded like an excellent explanation.

_An excuse, you mean._

"You… could recognize magic, then?"

His voice had become low, a few strands of Ghirahim's silvery hair shivered slightly in his breath. But he hadn't stuttered or looked away yet.

"I pride myself on that." Ghirahim sounded faintly amused and somewhat absent-minded, like a person speaking and at the same time trying to watch what happened in the heated argument across the street. Link slowly pushed the lapel of the coat aside to free his arm.

"So you would have noticed if there…" His voice grew thin for a second when Ghirahim's fingers drifted a little towards the collar of his shirt, though the tips still kept a contact to his vulnerable throat. "… had been others, yes?"

"Where?" Ghirahim didn't bother to sound attentive as he let go of Link's hand and instead slipped it under the heavy chain that secured the cloak. He didn't unhook it, but he seemed to know exactly how to smuggle his gloved fingers underneath the fabric until they reached Link's tunic.

"In the crypt. You would have… known."

The last word left his lips in a daze. His hand opened a little.

"So it would seem." Ghirahim lowered his head to run the tip of his tongue over Link's Adam's apple, a caress that wasn't nearly as wet as he had expected and still made him flinch. As he felt his voice catch in his throat, Link decided that it was now or an ungraceful later. Wrenching the demon's fingers from his neck, he spluttered: "So it's somewhere else, and _stop your groping!_ Is that common among you kooks?!"

He found that he had sounded appropriately indignant, and Ghirahim let him go without protest. It might have been impressive if there hadn't been that nasty satisfied smile, tinted with hunger. Ghirahim took a step back and crossed his arms, his tongue moving behind his lips. "We greatly value groping. It's one of our favorite occupations. We even hold contests, and you get decorated with a medal for the best groping."

Link huffed dryly. "My ass."

"That's what I was talking about, sooner or later."

"Your sense of humor is uncalled for." To be honest, Link had expected him to be at least a bit offended. Then again, Ghirahim hardly seemed to take rejections personal, and he had to admit he hadn't always been adamant at refusing him. He inconspicuously checked whether anything in his clothing was loose and cleared his throat, hoping the warmth would leave his cheeks soon.

"If the Temple exists, could you search for traces of magic? That artifact you mentioned could be the reason for the attack."

_And we could already have found it if it weren't for random hanky-panky, yes?_

Ghirahim shrugged, astonishingly nonchalant when he had been completely different a few moments ago. Maybe he did tease out of boredom. "My magic is unstable, but something so powerful cannot slip by. If you insist, we will lap around."

Link straightened. "How much time do we have?"

Ghirahim seemed to know what he meant. "An hour before it could turn troublesome to perform another translocation."

That meant more things would remain unspoken for now.

"Off we go."

/

Link worried about more guardians on the way, but they didn't encounter any – like they avoided entering the Temple. He didn't need Ghirahim's estimation to know that successfully protecting a place was not achieved by leaving out large buildings. Something was brewing, and with any luck, they'd be gone before sampling what it was.

The Silent Realm presented the hallowed halls in a ghostly light and absolute silence. It could have been a solemn experience, had it not felt so surreal. Link sensed _something_ just out of reach of his perception, vague fragments of a thing he could not even place. Was it a sound, a smell, a sight? It was impossible to tell.

They entered a round chamber that he supposed was a sanctuary subject to the Spirit Maidens: the reliefs of women were faceless, the stucco on the ceiling artfully held webs of silk. The material was so delicate that it moved in the slight draft like a fogbank, and Link stared up into the wafting white.

"Do you… feel that?"

Ghirahim regarded the chamber with open disdain. "Disgust, you mean? Plenty."

That remark was a sacrilege in the heart of Hylia's temple, but it was useless to argue, and they lacked time. Link shook his head and tried to dispel his fear of the guardians to concentrate harder. The more he tried to grasp that _something_, the less he could tell what it was.

"It's elusive." He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I don't know if we're getting closer."

Ghirahim didn't seem to find much promise in that, but his left hand disappeared behind his hair to rub at his ear, as if the shape could generate different hearing. Since he had arms with the hardness of steel, it wasn't even unthinkable.

Link stepped farther into the chamber. It was located deep in the Temple and therefore had no windows, and yet it wasn't dark. The Silent Realm colored everything in its cold, moonstone-tinged light, making it impossible to esteem the passing of time. At least they could continue without the glow of Ghirahim's magic, which seemed to draw the guardians near.

Fiddling with the clasp of the coat, Link approached the wall opposite to the door. Aside from slim mats and a stone basin, the chamber was empty: the mats probably were meant as moderate cushions for the Spirit Maidens to kneel, and the basin reminded him unpleasantly on the one he had crashed into when he had discovered Ghirahim's resting place. This one was made from wood as well and contained faintly fluorescent water. Link felt nothing when he touched the smooth edge, and at the same time he was so sure he felt _it_.

"A sight to behold."

It seemed like Ghirahim had overcome his dislike for this room – but when Link looked up, he found the spirit gazing at him with clear enjoyment. The openness of his intention was almost intimidating, and the fact that he wasn't human was much more confusing than his gender. Again, Link fought to meet his eyes and pretend he hadn't noticed. "Did you find anything?"

Ghirahim smiled calmly.

"I utterly rejoice in my master bearing my mark."

He sounded so honest that it irritated Link even more. He gave a harsh grunt and took the cloak off, tossing it over. Ghirahim didn't catch it, allowing it to land at his feet. "Will you get your head down?! We're running out of time, and you…"

The distant expression indicated that Ghirahim didn't listen, and for once, Link wasn't sure whether it was intentional. Maybe the spirit had concealed his weakening a lot better than he had imagined.

That was when Link sensed _it_. His hands gripped the round seam of the basin as he searched for the echo of that something that kept taunting him…

Ghirahim lifted his head, his eyes sharpening to an aggressive poignancy again. With a quick jerk of his head, he freed his round ear, listening.

Yes, it was sound. The Silent Realm gave a sound, and he had to find it. Without giving it any thought, Link took a deep breath and lowered his head, dunking it into the basin.

The Waking Water welcomed him.

/

_It was the music of a harp, and it was beautiful. It was so beautiful that it plucked his heartstrings in every sense of the word. So beautiful that it moved him to tears, and he lifted his hands to wipe his wet cheeks._

_That was when he realized that he was the one playing, and he cried in gratitude._

'_I told you, you have no musician's hands, shard.'_

_The voice sounded almost amused, and as Link's hands stilled, the music sang on in his ears, so much richer and softer than the faint echo he had heard before. When, he did not know. He was floating, and his body felt weightless._

'_Thank you.' His own voice was hoarse with awe. He felt warm wood beneath his fingers, and the harp nestled to his trembling hands like a child._

'_I will not contemn your tears.'_

'_You will send me away.' His throat was tight, as if he had never realized anything so horrible. The harp hummed gently as he cradled it against his chest._

'_You have yet to seize my gift, shard.'_

_The music began to fade, kindly rocking him, taking him away. There was nothing he could do, and Link let himself drift with an odd feeling of assurance. 'Will I see you again?'_

'_You have yet to see', it repeated._

/

Link lurched up and panted for air. His lungs worked until he wheezed and his consciousness began to reel, and he realized that the air smelled like forest and earth. The light was so bright he had to squeeze his eyes shut, and his erratic breathing slowed a bit.

The Silent Realm was gone. The Lost Woods had returned. For a moment, he sank back into the grass and melted his trembling body into solid, moist ground. A trace of harp tones caressed him before fading into his memory.

"I'll… never talk you into getting me there again." Link cleared his throat and sighed. His muscles were numb and he had a cramp somewhere in his back, his body stating that it didn't approve of all that magic. Link heartily agreed.

"Demon?"

Ghirahim didn't answer.

Blinking into the afternoon sun, Link sat up and looked around. Had they been separated? Ghirahim had warned him that this could happen, and he had been clear about the unpleasantries. Link didn't remember how he had left the Silent Realm – what if that voice had brought him away, and Ghirahim didn't know? He'd be left surrounded by guardians, sooner or later running out of magic.

Link struggled to his feet. The horse was where they had left it, eyeing him nervously. That at least was a good sign for Ghirahim somewhere close by. "Are you here?"

"What an… immensely ridiculous question."

The words were barely a hiss, squeezed through teeth that hardly moved. Link spun around and steadied himself on a tree trunk. He couldn't see the spirit, but it had sounded close. "Are you alright?"

This time, a few seconds passed.

"Purely."

Ghirahim appeared between the trees, his cloak loosely thrown around his shoulders. He clenched his right arm against his chest, the muscles of his jaw working as his other arm held it still. The long glove hid the skin from sight, though the outline seemed unharmed.

"What's with you?" Link reached for his arm, but a hostile glare stopped him. Whatever burdened Ghirahim, it didn't change his demeanor and his attitude towards help.

Link frowned. "You want to insist you're fine? I thought I had said something about obvious lies." He halted and added shyly: "Glad you made it in one piece."

It didn't cause Ghirahim to relax, yet his majestic rebuff softened a little as he shifted the arm cradled to his chest.

"Cold." He was somewhat grudgingly to admit, and his tone warned Link about any kind of comment. It was hard to tell whether it was true, his shivering indeed reminded on freezing, and Link knew better than to dig deeper.

"I know what we'll do. Sit over there, it's sunny, I'll tell you while you warm up." Confusion made room for excitement, and Link waved the demon spirit over. For the first time since his flight, he was sure he had a plan.

He thought the smile Ghirahim grazed him with was a tad bit indulgent. "I'll warm up," he agreed quietly, more to himself as he continued to hold his arm. Link impatiently waited for him to sit in the sun-spotted grass and then knelt down, his hands gesturing vividly.

"I know what was taken! It was a harp, that harp with incredible music, whoever set the Temple on fire wanted it and is using it! Do you know it? The sounds it made, it was… breathtaking."

Ghirahim closed his eyes as if to dwell on it. "I know it. _Hades' Harp_. It's powers are unique."

"So it's dangerous. We need to find it, right? Quickly!" Link couldn't seem to stop his voice as he gestured towards the horizon, adrenaline sweeping away all the lingering effects of the translocation.

Ghirahim didn't move, Link's actionism obviously didn't affect him. When he opened his eyes again, they were hooded and dark.

"Still not warm?"

In answer, Ghirahim jerked him down by his shoulder and dug his sharp fangs into the base of his neck.

/

_A/N: I'm dreadfully slow once more, quelle surprise. So I'm even more grateful for feedback, I hope I caught all the mistakes – they kept creeping in this time._

_No worries, Link won't turn mushy anytime soon. I'll make up for the groping-moment… One does not save the world and then quietly surrender to demons._


	8. Joining

It was as if his body was paralyzed. Link, who had endured bites and scratches before, knew that it should hurt, but it didn't. He was frozen in primal shock, his eyes wide as he stared into the whispering green leaves. His vision blurred when he did not blink.

Something slowly dripped from his neck and disappeared in his tunic. He could not feel the wetness, nor was it cold or warm. Even his mind was numb, blending out any thought of panic or instinct. The nerve poison that was contained in the saliva of carnivores had this effect when it entered the blood stream. The higher the dose, the less likely the prey was to fight.

But none of the strange visions he had had since the beginning of the day stole his consciousness, no darkness swept him away. Now the sky stared at him, and Link slowly realized that he was no longer sitting upright. Sunlight tickled his skin, and he vaguely smelled the coppery tang of blood.

"I can assume you that you are fine, master. Can I offer you any assistance in your meditation?"

Ghirahim's voice was a hint deeper than Link remembered, and his amusement seemed to engulf his words.

The actual bite had not taken more than a dozen seconds, so there was a chance he hadn't lost much blood. Although his brain registered the logic, Link felt like he couldn't quite palpate the earth beneath him. If this was a message, it said: _Dear Link, please make an effort of keeping us out of occult hocus-pocus for just _one bloody hour_. Sincerely, your body._

At that, Link performed a slightly clumsy roll out of Ghirahim's reach. His hand reached up to touch the juncture of his neck to find that the skin was mostly dry. Two small holes were throbbing with pain, as mean as beestings, but with surprisingly little blood loss. He remembered the thin, sharp fangs the demon possessed. Holy Heavens, they had pierced his flesh… The Goddess knew what poison now depraved his blood!

Ghirahim watched him almost patiently. The hold on his right arm had loosened, and despite his actions, there was no red smeared on his face – and no remorse. Perhaps he even was a bit more relaxed than before.

Link swallowed quickly before his meager breakfast was brought up for repeated inspection.

"You do that again and I'll-"

His voice hadn't been impressive, but Ghirahim raised an eyebrow before he could even cough out his threat. "It won't."

Not for the first time, Link dearly missed his dagger. Or any kind of weapon. The sound he made was a laugh that scratched along tense muscles, and cold sweat burned in the bite marks. He had to cut out patches of flesh and leave the wound open to prevent an infection from being confined and thereby spreading. The place of the bite was more than parlous, especially since he had to do it himself, and without a remotely clean blade. He had seen men bigger than him die from bites smaller than this. He was not going to underestimate the danger.

Ghirahim seemed oblivious to his fear; however, the lack of approval hadn't escaped him.

"It was unworthy. I degraded the ritual with my action." It was close to an admittance of misbehavior, and Ghirahim wasn't likely to do this twice a day. Link glowered at him, daring the demon spirit to make an addition.

Which he did, reproachfully.

"It was your fault in the first place. Your rash decisions forced me into spending more of my energy than necessary."

Link had the feeling that if he opened his jaw, he wouldn't get it shut again. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be." Ghirahim folded his arms, apparently content.

Link took a deep breath. The warm air was filled with a variety of earthy smells, and yet it tasted stale now. "Your _unworthy_ action is prone to poison my blood and give me a nasty death. We aren't even the same species, and if you have any decency left, give me one of your blasted magic blades."

If that made it even worse, there wasn't much to be done about it. What he didn't want to do was to wait and hope for the best – his prayers had ended unanswered. If anything, he needed to act quickly.

Ghirahim regarded him calmly, the corner of his mouth twitched. "I am your blade," he said quietly. "You are my master. We are an entity."

Link didn't answer him; he kept his hand firmly clamped over the marks, as if the bleeding might return any moment. For once, Ghirahim didn't mock the insistence he represented.

Shrugging the coat off that he had thrown around himself, Ghirahim tilted his head. His slightly risqué clothing bared his right shoulder per se, unmarred skin in the color of dove's wings. His eyes seemed to mirror the haunting expression of Link's face, and for a strange moment, the ranger could even recognize his image in the brown pools.

"Very well." Ghirahim ran his index finger along the smooth side of his neck. "Then make us even."

It took a second until Link even understood the twisted gift he was being offered. His nails dug into the skin of his neck until the marks threatened to bleed again. "That's sick," he croaked, unable to tear his gaze off the bare area of skin. And despite himself, Link wondered how skin that hadn't been broken by the bite of a wolf could even be damaged, even if he used a weapon.

Ghirahim didn't even flinch. "Do you want me to do it?"

"How would _that_ help me?!" If his mouth hadn't been so dry, Link would have spat out. "Is destruction all you know?!"

The instant he spoke those words, he realized what they meant. And as his eyes widened, Ghirahim seemed to comprehend as well. Whatever flashed in those eyes disappeared quickly as he blinked. It almost seemed like he was about to answer.

Instead, Ghirahim held his right arm folded against his chest and said nothing. Link wondered what he had expected.

"We'll find that harp. If I return it to the Temple, I can parley with them." At least he could get Zelda to listen, but Link wasn't in the mood to choose realistic phrases. The chances that the Spirit Maidens would admit having owned an instrument of magic were rather slim already. "You know the harp. Where could a thief take it?"

"Thief?" Ghirahim's mouth curled into a sardonic smile. "Hasn't it come to your honored attention that this person is capable of using the harp, thus likely possesses deep knowledge of it? Seems like a worthier owner than your collection of dim-witted virgins."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, demon." So far, Link hadn't known that he was capable of this particular snippy tone. At least it warned Ghirahim off an ironic reply; he simply crinkled the corners of his eyes in dry amusement and nodded his head, as if to acknowledge the deep wisdom of his master's words.

Link carefully felt for the bite. The two holes had formed a small crust, though without a knife of some sort, there wasn't much he could do. He would have to apply medicinal herbs and hope that Ghirahim had reasons for his blind trust.

No, hoping was actually no option. There was just no other way.

"As for your question…" Ghirahim surprised him by returning to the matter at hand. Likely not because he had suddenly come to respect Link, but because he was getting tired of their banter. Link noticed with growing irritation that he was once more steered into the directions Ghirahim chose for him. Even with the years, decades (or even centuries) that the creature had on him, it was bitter.

"… requires this refreshment, no matter who carries the harp. There is no specific tune; the harp itself creates its music and thereby its power." Ghirahim spoke with an air of superiority, which told Link that whatever he had just missed, it was centered on the wonders of magic. Appearing unimpressed, he raised an eyebrow. "So?"

It was slightly satisfying to see a glimpse of frustration passing through Ghirahim's mien at his ignorance. "I have no way of knowing which of the shrines your _thief_ would take first. Considering the energy he has already spent in the Silent Realm, the nearest one would be preferable."

It was self-evident to inquire about that place, even when he was not going to like the answer. Link let his hand slowly slide from his neck. His fingers had small specks of fresh blood on them, even though they almost blended into the scratches and bruises that hadn't been able to heal since he had tumbled into Ghirahim's chamber. No musician's hands. No warrior's hands either. Their torn skin seemed oddly symbolic, as if he was trying to play a game too big for him and this was what it got him.

He needed a plan. He needed to know. _Can you find him?_

But what he said was: "Can you fight him?"

Ghirahim regarded him intensely, a calm determination accompanied his movements as he wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and closed the clasp. His voice held no triumph, and yet it would have been wrong to call it cold.

"And I will."

/

People who had hired Link in the past had liked to remark that he was quiet. Very much so, in fact. To him, that was no disadvantage: his work was better done in silence, and he wasn't paid to entertain. Which was why quietness never made him struggle.

He had every reason to be quiet now – finding a way out of the Lost Woods was no undemanding task, especially without a map, equipment and with a stubborn horse in tow. He could have requested Ghirahim's help again for orientation, and he didn't. The memory of appearing high above the forest grounds with only a demon to hold onto was fresh, the feeling of fangs piercing his flesh even fresher.

However, they were traveling companions for now. And still, Link's voice crawled back into his throat whenever he opened his mouth. The only thing he uttered were warnings to avoid dangers of the woods that Ghirahim was obviously unused to. He moved with the security of someone who didn't fear for his body. Link didn't want to try whether that was justified.

They had only taken a short break to let the horse drink and give Link time to grind the leaves he had collected into a greenish paste and carefully rub it into the marks. The sting got worse after that, but he didn't feel the telltale warmth of festering, nor did he feel dizzy. The weariness was probably due to the foreign magic he had exposed himself to.

Ghirahim had vanished somewhere during the break; Link didn't mind, though he was almost surprised to see the demon spirit withdraw into privacy. After all, he hardly granted that privilege to Link. Ghirahim reappeared without an explanation, and they continued in silence.

As the shadows grew longer, Link knew it would once more be him who announced the halt. Ghirahim didn't seem to tire; the only somewhat earthly thing was that his thin soles were impractical here, even when he didn't give Link the satisfaction of stumbling. Did spirits get blisters? Probably not.

When it became apparent that Link was more likely to stumble from exhaustion, he began the search for a relatively safe hideout. They had managed to avoid tracks that belonged to large predators, but the sounds of the Lost Woods made him uneasy. As if they were an echo of the eerie quietness of the Silent Realm. He was relieved when the sunset dulled its colors from orange and pink to violet. A few stars were already scattered across the firmament and confirmed that they were on the right path.

_Path_, yes. Despite the difficulties of traveling through thick brushwood, Ghirahim remained impossibly clean. Link was well aware that he had more important matters, and still it annoyed him to no end.

At least Hylia bestowed a bit of sympathy on him: before the darkness fell, they came across a small cave. It was more of an overhang, created by the roots of an enormous tree that had crashed down years ago and ripped out whole clods of earth. But there were no fresh tracks, and it was relatively dry, even when you had to crawl on your hands and knees. Link was grateful, even for the resemblance of safety.

He needed equipment, rather sooner than later. He had no weapons and nothing to hunt with, nor a canteen for water. And even though this should have been his foremost concern, he couldn't seem to tackle the problem in his rational way.

Ghirahim gave the simple camp a disdainful glance and settled opposite of the spot where Link had tied the horse to a provisional stake. He was glad that the demon kept his distance, especially since the space beneath the roots was narrow, and the soft, dark moss swallowed almost every noise. Still, it confused him more than he let on.

_Dear Hylia_, he prayed silently and, with some hesitance, even folded his hands. They now felt strangely immobile. _If you will, I am trying. It's just quite difficult to be a pawn and everybody else around you is a knight. I didn't make the metaphor, I'm not poetic. Or lofty. But you could go easier on me – if you won't intervene, at least give me… signs. Or, if Zelda prays to you right now, give her peace, give her whatever brings her heart peace. I won't ask you what it was._

_You could reveal yourself to Ghirahim, I suppose, but he chooses not to believe in you. I'm sorry, there are more urgent matters than converting demons. Whatever he is. I did not ask him. You could. And explain whatever you were doing with that harp._

_I demanded a lot. It's not new to you, probably, so ignore my requests. Safe from one: don't forget Zelda, please don't. She needs you._

The garnet nestled peacefully against his hand, as if to remind Link of the irony. He realized that he knew none of the prayers he had been taught as a child, he could not remember their words. As if they were gone from his mind. He was too tired to concentrate, but in the back of his mind, they gave him no comfort. He unfolded his fingers again and drew up his knees against his chest. The moss was moist and pillowy, almost scentless. It was very quiet.

/

Link jerked awake. Or rather, he did not move an inch.

As his wide eyes stared into the darkness around him, he couldn't recall where he was; he only knew that he had dreamed again. The memory faded so fast he couldn't keep it, strange echoes of rich laughter, clapping hands, maybe wind chimes… It didn't matter. Link didn't want those impressions, and the fact that things kept creeping into his mind and dreams disturbed him so much that he felt ill. He scrambled to his hands and knees and tried to suppress the rising of bile in his throat, afraid it would choke him.

He didn't care what foul powers were at work and who saw fit to drag him into this mess. Link stumbled barefooted into the grass, blind for the forest around him until trees blocked his way. He took a heavy breath and leaned forward, pressing his head against rough bark. The turmoil in his stomach eventually calmed, and he felt a burning at his ankle where he must have grazed a stinging nettle.

It wasn't fair. The horror mixed with anger, and Link couldn't even decide if he didn't blame Hylia as much as the strange realms Ghirahim originated from. They forced these visions on him, as if they had every right to burden him. He was no tool, he was not _theirs_…

Link straightened and looked around. His eyes had gotten used to the darkness, allowing him to guess the outlines of the overhang and the horse that rested with its head low. Ghirahim's bright silhouette was nowhere to be spotted – which didn't say a lot, the forest was too thick to see further than a few meters. Nonetheless, Link stepped back to search for him, and even if it was just for the fact that he couldn't think of sleep anyway.

The earth beneath his bare soles was moist with dew and curved with every root. Link couldn't remember the last time he had depended on his feet to feel the ground; it was oddly comforting to concentrate on it again. He was almost disappointed when he climbed the fallen tree and caught sight of Ghirahim's silvery hair.

Link hadn't wondered what the demon spirit actually did at nighttime, assuming that he probably dozed out of boredom – and if he did it hanging upside down from a tree, much like a bat. He hadn't expected him to merely sit and wait.

Ghirahim took no notice of him. He sat with his back to Link on his cloak, something white was draped over his thigh. It took Link a moment to realize that it was one of his gloves. Ghirahim hadn't removed them, not even when the wolf had bitten him, but now he seemed fully consumed with the examination of his right arm.

Link could have withdrawn easily, it seemed like he hadn't even been heard. And yet he slowly approached, blinking to tell the shadows from Ghirahim's pale skin. They were painted on him like ink.

The lower arm was covered in dark welts that crept over the skin and then stopped neatly beneath the elbow, as if they had drawn a line. Link could see how the flesh seemed dried around the wounds, the welts ran deep into the muscle. As if immune to the pain it must have caused, Ghirahim slowly turned his arm, inspecting the damage with deep submersion.

Link had seen frostbites before; the skin was bloodless and papery before it turned blue and black and had to be severed. But he could see life dripping back into Ghirahim's arm, ever so slowly it restored the arm. Link didn't question it. He stood, his shadow mixing with the thousand others of the forest, and he watched.

Ghirahim had smiled strangely when he had been offered to warm up in the sun.

"I cannot heal you." The demon's voice was no different than usual, and yet it was much quieter, almost difficult to hear.

Link's first instinct was to say something trivial like 'That's fine', but he didn't. It wasn't a random comment Ghirahim had made, it was a deficiency. Link regarded the wounded arm and the magic slowly threading into the damaged tissue. Then he sat down on the ground beside him and drew his knees up to his chest.

"Because I don't have magic?"

Ghirahim formed an experimental fist, and his skin crackled like dry leaves. "No. It was an insult. I was not given what accused my wielder of incapacity." His tone lacked the usual smugness; it was almost blank. As his fingers straightened again, Link could feel the hum of magic vanishing uselessly into the air. The cracks didn't close any faster.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Ghirahim didn't answer. Link dug his toes into the grassy earth and felt lighter; for the beauty of the night perhaps, and maybe a bit for the feeling of helplessness that was not his alone.

"You think you failed me."

Although his voice was meant to soothe, Ghirahim's eyes seemed to blaze a hole into his tunic. Even so, the demon spirit only gave a tilt of his head and another gruesome crackling of his fingers. "Those who drink the Waking Water are doomed. It peels skin off your flesh and melts your bones. But you…!" Link didn't know whether it was awe or merely cynicism in those words, nor could he guess the expression of Ghirahim's eyes. The night declared it insignificant.

But it made sense. If made sense of the clean separation of injury and healthy flesh, because Ghirahim had reached into the waters for him and had been burned. He had escorted Link into the Silent Realm although he had been aware of the animosity awaiting him.

When the dry skin creaked again, Link took Ghirahim's wrist. He could feel the strained pulse of slow healing and the icy coldness still seeping from the welts. The muscles under his hand stilled, not comforted but curbed.

There was a whole abyss separating them from commiserating or solacing. Only one thing, and Hylia forgive him, if she even had that right anymore.

"Try it again."

Link felt the moving of his lips more than he heard his own voice. When Ghirahim didn't resist, he began to lift the spirit's hand, the glacial slowness pronouncing how it could be no faster. Ghirahim watched him, the tip of his pointed ear twitching as his only movement. His arm was a dead weight, although Link felt no discomfort. He realized that until now, he had never actually touched Ghirahim's skin; he had expected it to be as smooth as his silky gloves, but the torn surface was rough and no bit delicate.

It was oddly intimidate to lay someone's hand into the nape of his neck. Link thought he felt an echo of pain and cold through his own arm, through the garnet resting there. And it was a peculiar gem to wear, not even remarkably valuable and ordinary.

Ghirahim's dark eyes hadn't left him. When Link let go of his wrist, gravity attempted to let the arm slide down again. Despite the pull, Ghirahim's palm brushed over the twin marks, over crusted blood and remains of herbal paste. He did it with the same slow intensity as before.

An unobtrusive tugging at the corners of his mouth told Link he was smiling softly. He couldn't tell whether Ghirahim had tried, and yet he was confident of it. And aware that Ghirahim had crossed a border as much as he had.

The cold trickled into his body. For a dull moment, Link could sense it: the icy bite of water, fingers grasping nothing as magic suddenly flamed up and faded again…

Link gasped and shivered, staring into the closing welts on Ghirahim's arm as the hum of magic ran through his veins and soaked his skin, still dark and lurking and nonetheless disarming him before he knew it. Even when it was hard to see, he felt his bruised hands relax and raised them to rub them over his cheeks.

His gasp turned into a hoarse, brief laugh as he realized it. Link could have cried out for experiencing what was magic, what the foreign essence-

Ghirahim's pale hand clamped over his mouth. The fingers were long and slender again, the skin hissing softly with a natural coarseness and trembling so slightly Link could have thought him unaffected. He could have told Ghirahim he was beautiful.

The spirit's voice was low and sharp.

"They have found the trail."

/

_A/N: The clinical picture of the injury is a cryogenic burn – however, the universe would hardly call it so. But it's not Ghirahim-specific._

_I'm quite dissatisfied with this one; no reason in particular. Plot-chapters are necessary, and yet this one turned out unusually dreary. I'm always thankful for your critique, but I'm afraid it's just the limit of my skill._

_Link occasionally refers to Ghirahim as a 'demon', though this is only as far as he knows. I hope this chapter paved the way for some clarity. I still dislike it, it's a general statement – no whining, I can assure. Just grumbling a little._


	9. Finding

It was too quiet.

Link knew what a posse was never quiet. Dogs barked, men exchanged observations, torches burned leaves and equipment rattled. They were meant to be heard, to rouse the prey and scare it into flight again. While hours of search were exhausting and dull to a tracker dog, a running body activated natural instincts. The rest was merely a matter of time.

Link rose and glanced at Ghirahim. The demon slipped on his glove, but he was poised to act quickly. It was either run or fight, and for the first time, he didn't seem to immediately prefer the last. Templars hadn't been a bother to him, and now he was almost careful. A cold feeling settled in Link's stomach.

"How far?"

"With the Silent Realm at your command, it's of no importance." Ghirahim's eyes seemed black as he stood up as well and closed his cloak. His voice was dark with wrath. "A dowsing mechanic. It will track any traces of magic, no matter how far."

Link heard himself laugh dryly, but without the harsh edge that had been in it before. "And I thought we were going into battle."

Ghirahim didn't smile. Link didn't know whether that was a sign of sympathy or pity.

"This is no opponent."

"Whatever else?"

Ghirahim didn't answer. His eyes darted around, as if he was unsure where to look, and then again, he didn't seem to see anything. Link couldn't tell whether he used some kind of supernatural sense or merely hesitated, unsure what to do. And it wasn't an option to wait.

"Then we run." He gave a crooked grin that felt like his tense face crumpled and relaxed at the same time. "That I'm good at."

"It won't be enough to crawl into a hole," Ghirahim objected, but he sounded less taunting than usual. People usually sounded like this when they had no better plan to offer. Link already turned to get his boots.

"This is no hive, it's a forest." He glanced over his shoulder. "Can you ride?"

/

"You did not think this over, did you, honored one?"

Link wasn't going to admit Ghirahim was right. The horse stomped anxiously, its ears turned flat back and the head slightly tilted to see Link better. It hadn't been easy to remove the knot from the reins without being bitten or kicked. He had dealt with feral animals before, and he had prided himself to have a good hand with them.

But a horse _trained_ to fight was more… risky.

Link slowly extended his hand, careful to avoid rash movements. The horse ground its massive jaws, eyeing his fingers in a most ominous way.

Ghirahim hummed darkly, a sound just bordering to a growl. "I told you that the moment it endangers you, I will kill it. I may be so bold to remind you, for your wisdom is eternal while your memory seems not."

"This is your way of telling me I'm an idiot, yes?"

"As I said, thy wisdom is unrivaled."

"Shut up."

Link breathed deeply and tried to silence the voice of reason that kept insisting how he could come up with a different plan, a less hazardous idea, only that he had none to offer. There was a small chance Hylia hadn't guided the horse's dash into the Lost Woods without thought. And if it had nothing to do with her, it could still be luck.

Too bad he didn't have bolas or something of the sort. At least a rope. Without letting the horse out of his sight, Link reached back with one hand.

"I need the chain of your coat." Knowing that his determination would slip if he got distracted, Link added: "Please."

Ghirahim didn't reply, but there was a soft, slicing sound, fabric being cut with something very sharp. The horse snorted nervously as it felt the presence of magic, and Link's fingers closed around heavy gold, the metal was still warm from Ghirahim's body and shimmering faintly.

The horse prepared to shy at him. Link lunged forward.

Even before he could leap onto its back, it reared up – he had never expected it to be so _fast_. Link barely managed to push his fingers under the cheek girth and hold on before the beast jerked up its head and almost swept him off his feet. The muscles in his arm screamed with a ripping pain, but he forced himself to keep his grip and use the momentum given by the bucking horse.

Link hissed as it tried to throw him over its head and maneuvered one of his legs over the croup. He clung on; his arms were tiring rapidly, and the beast was damn strong. It was reasonable to let go and scramble back to try again, perhaps from a higher position, and yet Link knew he couldn't do it. It was not a matter of pride, even though he feared that Ghirahim might take action. He knew he had to succeed this time. Something in the angry trembling of fur and muscles beneath him told him that he had one try, and one try only.

The horse writhed and kicked out, and if Link's foot hadn't been caught in one stirrup, it would have thrown him over its head; the cracking feeling in his knee told Link that this would be memorable later. But it also gave him a valuable moment of time until the horse had regained balance.

The saddle was meant for a knight in full armor, thus it was too large for Link, who was slim and rather short. He kept gliding back and forth, and the stirrups were too long for his legs, so he didn't even try to climb into them. Instead, he hooked the chain around the massive brown neck, just below the jaw, and pulled.

The horse gave an irate cry and bucked again. Link could feel its heavy pulse against his cheek and the rebelling strength that caused agony in his arms and legs. Sweat poured down his forehead and temples, it slicked his hold on the chain and burned in his eyes. They wrestled quietly, and breaths grew harsher.

Until the struggle stopped.

Link gasped for air and willed his stiff, once more bloody fingers to ease their hold. The horse stood, its head lowered as far as the chain allowed, its nostrils flaring. Link dared to lift his hand a little; he had torn his skin again, but the animal's neck was unharmed.

Link slowly straightened and carefully collected the reins. The horse grumbled and complied, throwing a telling glare at him.

_Don't push it._

Link wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked around. Ghirahim wasn't far, despite of the churned earth that ended just before his feet. Maybe the horse hadn't kicked him because it had missed a golden opportunity.

The demon had crossed his arms. His cloak lied loosely around his shoulders where the clasp was useless now. It was no stance of attendance or fight, and his expression was hidden in the dark. All Link knew was that Ghirahim hadn't intervened, and insecurity was an unlikely reason.

As he nudged the horse slightly with his legs, it trudged forward. Its hooves were shoed with sharp steel and made almost no sound on the fresh earth. Link was aware how intimidating it was, even though Ghirahim seemed to know no fear. When he moved his right hand from the reins, it was bloody and sweaty, as if it had never been healed. The golden chain glittered between his fingers, dirtied by the touch.

And still, it had been this blood that had awoken the creature.

"Ghirahim."

Link keenly felt the weight of cooling gold in his extended hand.

"Trust me."

White lips curled into a soft smile, the pale skin reflected the moon's light. As Ghirahim shifted his weight ever so subtly, his cloak fell open, and for the first time, he seemed vulnerable under the red brocade.

"Not because I fear a chain choking my neck." His voice was low and vocal, thrumming with his whole being. Link had never heard it this way before. "Not because you have demanded it." Words flowed like cool, clear water. "Not because I dread for my mission."

Ghirahim stepped forward and reached out, the palm white glove became stained with little specks of red when he touched Link's hand, but his grasp was firm and a hint gentle.

"But because my master has finally called my name."

The moon caught in Ghirahim's dark eyes, for once clear and unhiding.

"And I will follow."

/

The Lost Woods had many dangers, and perhaps the Mist was the greatest of them.

It required a sixth sense to know when and where it appeared. Whole caravans could get caught in it: the violet fog suddenly rose from the ground and seemed to turn everything into a labyrinth, numbing the senses and crawling into lungs and eyes. Whatever died in the Mist seemed to disappear with it, never to be found again. It was either foul magic or a nature phenomenon, and Link had learned to avoid it.

Tonight, he sought it.

When the horse first lifted its head and whinnied, Link patted its neck. "I will call you Windwaker," he proposed, still awed at the speed the horse had ran at, even through thick forest. It was truly a fine steed, both beautiful and intelligent.

"Good. I won't."

Ghirahim, on the other hand, had a different opinion.

Link could feel the aching in his sides where the demon had pressed his arms down; if Link had forgotten how strong he was, he could count the blue marks later to memorize it. It was true that Windwaker had been running at a breakneck pace, but it was unusual for Ghirahim to be affected. Link suspected that it was less fear of a fall and more anxiety of the thief following them.

Knowing what Link planned probably wouldn't soothe him.

"How long can you hold your breath?"

Ghirahim snorted behind him and shifted in the saddle. Although he hadn't been hanging over the saddlebow this time, he didn't seem to enjoy riding in general and on this horse in particular. Link had been too fixated on finding his way to notice the waves of displeasure practically rolling off Ghirahim, and now that he did, he was almost grateful for something trivial.

"I am a sword."

Something cracked under Windwaker's hoof, the sound seemed dull. Link knew it was the right way, as if the air grew thicker. Gooseflesh spread over his arms as he fought the urge to turn around.

"You'll need to hold on now, and I don't have a sheath," he reminded Ghirahim. The sword form he had seen before was way too unwieldy here, and too heavy to hold. The Mist never returned what it took, whether living or dead.

Ghirahim hummed and wrapped his arms around Link's waist instead of placing them on his sides. The pale outline of his faces appeared in the corner of Link's eyesight, close enough to feel the brush of hair.

Link swallowed and grabbed the reins tighter in case the horse reared. Animals sensed tension, and by now, Windwaker probably suspected something, even though there was still obedience.

"Close your eyes. Try to breathe as little as you can."

The night seemed darker now. Link stopped the horse to collect himself, then looked over his shoulder. Ghirahim's eyes were open and measuring. He didn't protest, but he was clearly refusing to stumble blindly ahead. Figuratively speaking.

"Something will… arise soon. As long as we're far enough from the ground as well as fast, we will be fine." That was what Link had heard, but he had never tried it himself. "The Mist cuts off both the way and our trail."

He didn't offer an apology for the risk he took; he had trusted Ghirahim that the pursuer was a danger, and it resulted in trying his best to escape. Link didn't need to ask about the nature of the thief. It was enough to know that there was more magic to come, and he wasn't keen on meeting someone else throwing it around.

Ghirahim covered his mouth and nose with his gloved hand and snorted quietly. "Quite lovely."

Then he tightened his hold again and his inquisitorial eyes disappeared behind their lids.

_What the hell does that mean?!_

By now, a violet veil crept over Windwaker's pasterns, hardly visible in the dark of the night. It was part of the Mist's perfidiousness. Link took a last deep breath and rammed his heels into the soft sides of his horse. Windwaker bolted at the signal, almost sweeping Link down once more.

Even the clumping of hooves seemed softer through the fog, and as Windwaker dashed deeper into the forest, thin tendrils of Mist followed. Link leaned over the neck of the horse as deep as he dared, blinking as the air suddenly burned in his eyes. His thoughts became unfocused, unsettling his sense of direction and numbing his muscles. He could feel Ghirahim holding onto him, his face buried in his cloak. The Waking Water had burned him before, and Link dearly hoped that the Mist wouldn't damage him in the same way.

Windwaker slowed and neighed hoarsely, throwing up the head so Link had to yank the reins and spur the horse on again.

_There is a trail, I know it. Holy Heavens, don't let me turn wrong!_

His throat itched with the need to cough. Link straightened as much as he could to keep his mouth above the violet fog, but he needed to watch the ground for possible hindrances and holes. If Windwaker stumbled, then this was the end of it.

Something shook him. He hadn't even noticed how he had been slipping down sideways in the saddle until Ghirahim jerked as his waist. Link remembered that movements were forbidden. They required oxygen.

Windwaker stopped abruptly and pranced, nearing a panic. Link leaned over again to see: a massive shadow staggered through the brushwood. The low growling could not be mistaken, nor could the stench that Link accidentally breathed in through his nose.

A bear. Caught in the Mist as well. If anything could evoke primal instincts even in the most trained of horses, it was a beast of prey.

He barely had time to cling on before Windwaker reared and galloped into the opposite direction, unreceptive to any kind of command. Link could merely duck down to avoid being hit by branches.

This was no good. He couldn't do it. They were going to die here. Screwing his eyes shut, Link pressed his hand over his mouth and stifled a cry of helpless anger.

The saddlebow pressed uncomfortably against his crotch; Windwaker ran downhill. The Mist would concentrate there. He needed to change directions… Link forced his teary eyes open again and tasted the air. It was sweet with slow poison and smelled faintly of blue lotus. There were Deku Babas that imitated both the color and shape of that flower with mimicry to protect themselves. While their poison was not as strong, it had the same characteristics.

Blue Deku Babas didn't grow on stony ground, they preferred humid earth and nearby water. The stream… If he could only get uphill…

Link grabbed the reins and pulled as hard as he could, forcing Windwaker's head up. In the moment of disorientation, the horse stumbled after his lead and turned, dashing up with dulling reflexes. There was not much time left.

The clatter of hooves got louder, but suddenly, Link knew his body was failing him. Although he had found the trail again, he could not stay conscious for long enough to lead the horse there and keep himself in the saddle. Ghirahim could do both, at least maybe, but it was no use. He could teleport to escape, and Link realized that it was the only chance. For the demon.

His fingers trembled as he gently pried one gloved hand off him. It loosened its grip, and Link found himself smiling. So Ghirahim understood.

The hand buried itself in his hair and forced his head around, almost pushing him out of the saddle again. Within the fraction of a second, Ghirahim smashed their lips together, forcing the already slack jaw open and filling Link's mouth with air. Clean, warm air.

Link's thoughts struggled, then the fog in his mind began to lift. His eyes were already wet from the biting essences, and his vision blurred once more for the one moment when he felt Ghirahim carefully transfer what he, without a doubt, needed as well. Without hesitation or despair in his action.

He was a monster, but his devotion humbled Link to the point of tears.

Windwaker shot through the Mist, and Ghirahim's hand in his hair loosened. Link wanted to believe that he did it to preserve his remaining oxygen, but he sensed the weakening with all of his body. His lips still tingled with the intangible gift he had received, even as he wrapped the reins around his fist and willed the arm around his waist to stay where it was.

Then Windwaker finally burst through the violet vapor and into the cold night air. The gust hit Link right in the face and dried his eyes as he gasped for breath. The horse trotted a bit further, then stopped and the wide lungs worked to pump the poison out of the system.

Link braced himself on the saddlebow and coughed. To his immense relief, he heard Ghirahim's ragged breathing, then a dry spitting sound and someone clearing his throat.

"I think we… made it."

Another surprisingly strong gust of wind hit Link at those words, and without a sufficient balance, he was simply blown off the horse. The fall was hard, but he found that he couldn't care at all. He heard Ghirahim laugh, a deep, rich sound that he recognized. He had heard it before tonight, in his mazed dreams.

_It was you who laughed_, he thought with wonder. Ghirahim dismounted with admittedly far more grace and almost soundlessly, then huffed softly and held out his hand to help Link up.

They never touched. A blinding blue flash immediately made Link roll together to protect himself, and he was only vaguely aware of Ghirahim's shadow shielding him. Another gust of wind washed over them, and Link heard the unmistakable clattering of metal.

The hill Windwaker had climbed was lined with hard, blue diamonds that radiated a cold light. Link realized that they were caught, and whoever had done it had anticipated just that. For a moment, he thought he was back in Ordon with the templar facing him.

Only that it was no templar. The figure was covered in a dark, lusterless suit of armor, the flat cuirass bore a strange symbol: a golden triangle that held a gleaming blue stone with a rhombus-cut in the middle. A silver visor covered the face and hid it from sight. The knight wore a sheath, but it was empty.

And he held the reins of a giant bird. Of course it had been foolish to think they could outrun someone who wasn't even tied to the ground.

The animal was huge and unlike any Link had ever seen. Its grey feathering was streaked with white around breast and eyes, the massive beak was wide and straight, with a curved thorn at the end. It watched Link from yellow eyes with the horrible interest of a bird short before it picked.

The knight moved with an ease that seemed unreasonable considering his heavy armor. Taking a step forward, he banged his gauntleted fist against his chest.

"I have found thou." The voice was definitely male, even though made tinny by the helmet. Said piece bowed now and reflected the moon. "Accept my greeting and my blood."

Link picked himself up and stumbled back – then seized that the knight wasn't speaking to him.

Ghirahim folded his arms and hissed. "What kind of ridiculous masquerade is this, you fool?"

The hill was eerily quiet. Then a voice said: "I sense a surety of absolute nature that this is the Divine Splint, gift to His Chosen."

Link couldn't tell whether she hadn't been there before or if he hadn't seen her. The girl was short and almost frail, with blue skin in the shade of the magic imprisoning them. Her eyes were dull and deep, and her shoulders gleamed where her arms should have been. She possessed the same otherworldly beauty as Ghirahim, but in a frosty manner. Her voice, although melodious, was flat and quiet.

"I _know_," the knight snapped with icy annoyance. The girl at his side bowed in response, then turned her face towards Link. She had no pupils, and yet he had the feeling she was looking directly at him.

"You may have a scant death ahead of you." Ghirahim let his cloak slip from his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. "It will be over before you know it."

The knight eyed him silently. So far, he hadn't taken more notice of Link than of a bug on his boot. "Thou have no reason to threaten me, beautiful one. Fate has chosen me as thy master, and I will prove myself worthy of thy divinity."

Ghirahim chuckled snidely. "I have a master. Save your ceremonial words for the weapon you possess."

The bird ruffled its feathers and stretched, not moving although no one held the reins. The girl remained at her master's side, although her empty eyes held Link. "I sense a connection between the Splint and the present male human. It is of likely nature that the Splint nominates him as his master."

This time, her master was truly stunned. Link could tell it from his stiffness, from the way the bird suddenly turned its head and croaked inquiringly. And he could tell it was not good.

Ghirahim threw the girl a cool glance. "I suppose you are the tool of that importunate dowsing. You are work of His hands, but cross me again and I will sever you."

"She was of use to me to find thy tomb." The knight's voice was clear and sharp again. "And when I entered the place of thy rest, thou were gone. Forged to fulfill glory, thou art to wake by my blood and form the bond that was foretold. _I am thy master!"_

"You destroyed the Temple!" Link blurted and balled his fists, wrath taking over his mind. "And you will pay for the pain you caused!"

For the first time, the knight's eyes swept over him, piercing through his whole body. "And you are the piece of scum that desecrated holy ground and stole what was mine." His speech obviously changed to a more common tone when he didn't speak to Ghirahim.

The demon spirit formed red, razor-sharp magic to blades between his fingers. "You will regret scorning my master."

The knight growled and threw up his head. "Thou fail to see, so see!" With a swift motion, he ripped the helmet off and flung it aside.

Silvery hair tumbled down the temples, as bright as Ghirahim's. Grey skin shimmered, the ashy shade of Ghirahim's. Red eyes glowed with fervent passion in a face with hard lines of determination.

Link knew, without having to be told, that this was a real demon. It was no shock to him – but what turned his heart to ice was that for all the identical traits the knight shared with Ghirahim, his face resembled Link's to a disastrous extent.

For the first time, Ghirahim himself was taken aback. Paling even more, he stared with wide eyes while the glow of magic between his fingers grew weaker. "You are not…"

"_I_ am scorned. _I_ am thy master, capable of wielding thine powers and restoring what was lost. If thou wish me to kill the ignoble defiler, I will." The red in those eyes swirled vividly. "It will cleanse thy honor to shed his blood with thy blade."

It was a fatal mistake. Although Link had thought it when Ghirahim had first found him, the realization shattered him to his bones. One unfortunate fall had foiled everything that the demon considered fate, causing Ghirahim to regard the wrong person as his savior.

There was no reason it should hurt. Fear was appropriate, because his life was about to end. He had messed with powers far greater than him, and strangely enough, it gave him peace to know he was powerless against his downfall.

And still, it hurt. It bled. Link hadn't considered himself a savior or Ghirahim's deserving master, but he had honestly believed that he could… fix things. For both himself and the spirit, who had shared his breath with him because he wanted him to live more than he wanted to preserve his own life.

For that heartbeat, his expression was reflected. Bare and vulnerable and without regret, because Ghirahim did not regret fighting him, arguing with him, holding him, healing him and trusting him.

"Your offer is an insult. You intend to shame me by using that miserable piece of Pandemonium's waste, and that I will not endure."

Ghirahim's voice was crisp and bitterly cold, the way it had been. He met the girl's empty eyes without mercy. "Get rid of her."

The demon's face showed surprise; Link was too numb to differentiate, but he probably didn't like throwing away a useful tool. "Thou do not want him slain?"

"I _do not_ want the furor you have caused with your ignorant behavior," Ghirahim sliced through his question. "I _do not_ want any more commotion pointing towards us before the Realm is ready to deal with it. And I _do not_ want that filthy, by a puny Goddess tainted thing near me. It spites my ability." He gave a flippant smile and took a step towards the demon, his head slightly tilted. "Get rid of all three, and we shall proceed."

The knight regarded him, his thoughts invisible behind his ashen face. "It is thine wish, then?"

He wasn't stupid, but he also wasn't going to fight, Link realized. If Ghirahim was to be his weapon, it was best to grant him his will and thus placate him. By now, he didn't know whether he felt fear or relief; there was nothing.

Ghirahim performed an elegant bow and smirked, lifting the discarded helmet in nearly the same motion. "It is."

The knight closed his eyes; then he raised his gauntlet and removed the blue stone with a light click from his cuirass. "Leave me, Fi."

The girl's mien was impassive. She took the gem with her armless limb of fabric and laid it onto her tongue, where it disappeared. "Yes, honored one."

_Honored one._

"Return him to his village. I want things in their pitiful former way." Ghirahim waved dismissively without giving Link a second glance. "I am more than sufficient to compensate, little splint."

The knight accepted his helmet from him and put it back on. If he regretted his choice, he gave no indication. Link felt his knees go oddly weak and tried in vain to move his thoughts. He couldn't.

Fi appeared beside him, gently lowering a harp into his arms. He recognized it, but the music was gone from his mind.

At the subtle movement, the strap of hair loosened from his wrist and the garnet fell into the grass, where it disappeared. He would have liked to know if he merely couldn't see t anymore, because his vision was unusually blurred.

"Your gift," Fi said softly. She, too, was the voice from his dreams, along with something that was maybe Hylia, only that it mattered so little.

"You are the shard." Her sleeves touched his face. Her magic was more gentle, cool and grazing, unlike Ghirahim's brutal strength. Link felt it tug at him as he closed his eyes.

"I'm not."

_Oh, my master._

Ghirahim smiled mildly at him, his voice echoing in Link's void mind.

_Precious you, who…_

Fi's magic gently carried him away and frayed out the words.

/

_This is an open end, a bit like the game's. I decided to do this because I know the quality is going to drop (even more) if I continue. It's best to go while the going's good (though I've certainly missed that moment with 'The Closest Thing to Crazy')._

_This is no rant against readers. In my experience, those fits almost every time hit the people least deserving of it, and I have reviewers to thank who have been very helpful and kind, as such Viviane Renard and others._

_It's especially difficult (at least for me) to write AU without feedback. While I fully understand that reviewing can be rather pesky, especially if you didn't like the chapter all that much and have other things on your mind, I need to explain that closing this story is no tantrum of mine; I just know my writing will deteriorate, and I hate to see that happen. Nothing worse than being discontent with your work and knowing why you didn't do better. I can withdraw to reconsider some ideas and rationally ponder over my insecurities, and I can devote myself to reading, other fandoms and cosplay again._

_If there's anything you would like to remark, you are welcome to email me, though I need to point out that I can't answer to guest reviews, as there is no address I could use._

_Thank you all for staying with me for so long, have a wonderful summer and keep enjoying the amazing fandom of Skyward Sword and all the old and new Zelda-games!_


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